On a Saturday
by Azrael38
Summary: Ryan makes a decision, one that may affect him for the rest of his life. Will he ever forgive himself? Now rated M for semi-graphic descriptions of sex acts.
1. Prologue

I'll leave more for you at the end note. For now, enjoy!

* * *

The young, blonde boy exhaled loudly as he leaned his head back against the cinderblock wall. He knew that he had fucked up big this time. Ryan had been in trouble before, the fight with Luke at the fashion show after party and getting suspended from school for punching _him_ being two glaring examples, but he'd never felt like a situation was this…hopeless. He let out a bitter laugh as he thought to himself that there was a distinct possibility that that damned Atwood luck would finally catch up to him and he'd be spending the better part of his life in an eight foot by eight foot cell.

With nothing better to do until someone arrived to bail him out of jail, he thought back to the phone call that may have just changed his life forever.

"_Hello?"_

"_Ryan? It's me!"_

_Ryan sits up, hearing the urgent tone in Marissa's voice. "What's going on? Where are you," he asks worriedly._

"_I'm at the hotel. I can't really talk right now, but its Oliver. He's," she pauses, thinking. "You were right and now he won't let me leave."_

_Ryan is stunned. He knew Oliver was lying, but he hadn't expected Marissa to figure it out so fast. Suddenly, he hears another voice in the background. "Hang up the phone, please!" He hears heavy breathing into the mouthpiece, presumably coming from Marissa. "Give me the phone," he hears the voice say. He finally recognizes it as belonging to Oliver Trask._

"_What's going on Marissa," he asks her, only to hear Oliver answer._

"_Bye, Ryan."_

_The phone disconnects with a click and Ryan stares at it in shock. He quickly overcomes the shock and almost runs out of the pool house and into the kitchen, where Seth and Anna are arguing and Sandy seems to be observing. He couldn't care less about what the Cohens were up to at that particular moment; his only concern was for Marissa's safety. He grabs the keys to the Land Rover from the counter and is stopped by Sandy._

"_Hey, food's here." The older man pauses and sees his foster son holding the keys in his hand. "Where you going?"_

"_I think Marissa's in trouble," he explains quickly, trying to make it out of the house while giving out as little information as possible. "I'm just going to make sure she's okay."_

_Ryan goes to move around Sandy, but is stopped when the older man moves to the side to block him. "Give me the keys," he says, the command coming out a little more stern than he had intended._

"_No," Ryan says, equally forceful. "I have to go, okay?"_

"_Give me the keys!"_

"_You said if I needed help I could come to you," Ryan yells. "Now you're telling me that I can't go check and see if my girlfriend is in trouble?!"_

"_GIVE ME THE KEYS!"_

"_I'm sorry, but I can't stay and wait to find out if she's okay." Ryan pushes past Sandy, who watches his foster son go with a dropped shoulders and sad eyes._

"_Sandy," his wife admonishes, "you're just going to let him go?! I thought he was grounded?"_

"_He's got to make his own decisions. He knows the consequences for doing this," is all he says before leaving the kitchen, looking dejected._

Ryan kicks his feet up on the other bench, reflecting on how things might have changed if he had given Sandy the keys to the Rover. Would Sandy have been able to change anything that happened? Would he have been able to get them up to the penthouse without having to sneak up there? Would he have been able to reason with that psycho?

"_MARISSA," Ryan yells at the top of his lungs, banging on the penthouse door with his fist. No reply comes from inside so he bangs on the door again, bellowing out his girlfriend's name. This time, a voice comes from inside, although it's not one that he wants to hear._

"_Marissa doesn't want to see you, Ryan. I told you that before, but you obviously didn't listen. I'm going to give you one more chance to leave before I call hotel security and have you arrested."_

_Ryan knew that he hadn't imagined that pleading phone call from Marissa. Something was definitely going on in there and nobody, not even this little spoiled druggie, was going to keep him from finding out what it was. "MARISSA," he yells again._

_His girlfriend's voice finally greets him. With it comes a message that he doesn't want to hear. "Ryan," she yells, crying. "He's got a gun!"_

_Upon receiving this news, Ryan backs up from the door and, lowering his shoulder, bursts through the wooden door. The sight that greets him is not a friendly one. Oliver is wildly waving a large handgun around in the air, occasionally pointing it at Marissa, occasionally pointing it at himself._

"_You stupid bitch," Oliver yells. "Why did you do that? Why?!"_

"_I'm sorry," Marissa cries. "Please just put the gun away."_

_Oliver doesn't answer her, instead turning to Ryan. "What are you doing here Ryan? She doesn't want to be with you! She came to me when you two were having problems. To me! Now, because of one stupid lie, everything has come crashing down. I guess," he says, cocking the pistol, "if you're going to go, you might as well go down in style."_

_Ryan hears this and, thinking he means he's going to shoot Marissa, charges Oliver. Being the stronger, Ryan quickly forces the gun hand away from Marissa and himself, and points it toward the wall. Oliver inadvertently squeezes off a couple rounds that harmlessly hit the wall. Ryan sees that Marissa has used the distraction to make her way over to the phone and call for the hotel security team's assistance. He is distracted enough that Oliver is able to surprise him and roll him over, regaining control of the weapon. Trying to force the weapon from the lunatic's grip, Ryan is surprised and momentarily deafened when the firearm goes off. Neither boy reacts and Ryan is unsure if he was wounded, if Oliver took the bullet, or if neither boy was hit and the bullet harmlessly hit another wall. Too afraid to look in the direction of his midsection, Ryan receives his answer as he feels the warm river of blood running down his arm. He finally looks down and sees that the barrel of the weapon is pointed directly at Oliver's abdomen and blood is pouring out of the open wound and down Ryan's arm, which is braced against the pistol and Oliver's stomach._

_Ryan looks back up and sees the shocked look on Oliver's face. The realization that the boy has been shot finally hits Ryan and knocks him out of the trance that he has been in. Pushing the boy off of him, Ryan stands up and backs away, a shocked look much like the look Oliver sports etched on his face. Marissa sees the damage done to Oliver's midsection and begins to scream. Security runs through the door and Ryan is knocked to the ground, tackled by a large, burly man. He barely registers his change of location, his thoughts still on the boy that was shot. The boy _he_ shot._

Ryan stares down at his hands, looking for the blood that was there just a few hours ago. It has long since been washed off, but looking at them now, he thinks that he might see the blood there until the end of his days. He leans back against the wall, trying to think what would have made Oliver give up the gun. Would Sandy have helped if he were there? The man was very convincing, that much he could attest to. Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious to make Oliver pay for taking Marissa away, he might have been able to talk him out of trying to hurt himself. Regardless of what might have kept the psychotic boy alive, he was dead now and there was no fixing that. Ryan looked back down at his hands, imagining the blood there for all time.

_He looked down at his hands, currently handcuffed in front of him, and saw the blood. Oliver's blood. When the police had brought him into the station, he had overheard them saying that the boy hadn't made it, that he had died on the way to the hospital from severe blood loss. The detective "interviewing" him made sure to pass on that information. Maybe he was trying to rattle his cage, make him admit that he had gone there to kill Oliver. It didn't matter. He always managed to hurt people, gun or not. He had hurt Marissa, and he hadn't even touched her. She was so shattered by seeing her former friend get shot, that she done nothing but scream until she passed out. She was now sitting in an interview room at the station, an officer trying to ask her questions. All she was doing was rocking back in forth, murmuring something. Ryan didn't have to be in the same room as Marissa to know what she was saying; he could read her lips._

"_Shot dead." Marissa kept repeating the same line, over and over._

_The officer finally gave up, allowing a crying Julie Cooper and a stone-face Jimmy Cooper into the room, along with a group of paramedics. He could see Julie arguing with the EMT's and finally giving way. The paramedics administered what Ryan imagined was a tranquilizer, and Marissa slowly began to stop rocking, eventually ceasing all movement. The paramedics placed her on a stretcher and wheeled her out of the precinct, closely followed by Julie and Jimmy Cooper. As the stretcher and then the Coopers passed in front of Ryan, Julie stopped, a look of pure hatred radiating from her bloodshot eyes. She spit in Ryan's face and then continued to follow her sedated daughter out of the station._

Ryan reaches up to where Julie Cooper's spittle had impacted his face and feels the area for a moment. Much like his bloodstained hands, he imagines that he will feel the saliva there for a long time, marking him in much the way a cow was branded as property or an adulterer was marked with the scarlet letter. He deserved it, he imagines. He has caused nothing but sorrow since he had arrived to stay with the Cohens. The Cohens. They will be here to collect him soon, he thinks. He doesn't know how much longer he might stay with them. After being convicted of manslaughter, at the least, he didn't think Child Services would allow him much more time living with them.

*********************

"We're here for Ryan Atwood?"

The Police Desk Lieutenant looks up, regards Sandy and Kirsten Cohen with an extremely disinterested look, and goes back to his crossword puzzle. Sandy looks over at his wife, who shrugs her shoulders, and he turns back to the desk. "I said," he states, more forcefully this time, "I'm here for Ryan Atwood. We're posting bail." The officer doesn't look up, instead pointing over his shoulder to an area in the back marked 'Bail'. "Thanks, you've been a real help." Sandy and Kirsten head in the direction of the desk where they would be able to post bail, but are stopped by a severe-looking woman.

"Excuse me," the woman says, stopping Sandy with a hand to the chest. Sandy looks incredulously at his wife, surprised with the woman's forwardness. "Are you," she looks down at the clipboard she is carrying, "Sanford and Kirsten Cohen?"

"Yes, I'm _Sandy_ Cohen, this is my wife Kirsten. Excuse me, but we're here to collect our kid. Now if you'll excuse us?" He tries to maneuver around the woman, but is stopped again.

"I'm actually here about Ryan. I'm Joan Haygood, from Child Services. We were notified about Ryan when the police brought him in from the hotel." She motions the two toward some empty seats near a desk, where she sits. "I have to say that we're concerned about Ryan's adjustment to his new…situation."

"Ryan is adjusting just fine, thanks," Sandy spits out.

"I'm sure he is," Joan says, sounding unconvinced. "Regardless, he's been involved in a number of _incidents_ since he began to live with you. I see here that he was involved in an altercation at school with a student. In fact it just so happens that it was the teen that was shot tonight, an Oliver Trask." She makes a tsk tsk noise. "Just terrible. Also I see that he was involved with some kind of fire?" The woman looks up at Sandy and Kirsten, an answer expected from them in her look.

"That was accidental," Kirsten says, speaking up. "My father's company owns the development and we decided not to press charges on either of the boys involved, as it was accidental."

"Yes, well, the detective in charge has informed us that they are not going to charge Ryan. Surveillance footage of the penthouse has shown that Mr. Trask was carrying the pistol and that Mr. Atwood attempted to remove it in order to save a Ms. Cooper's life. The director has informed myself and the Chief of Police that Ryan is to be released into the custody of Child Services once he has been cleared to leave."

"What," both Cohens exclaim, simultaneously. Sandy responds first. "You can't take him away! I know Ryan has been involved in a few incidents, but that happens when you're a kid. He's just working out the kinks of being in a new family. You can't take him when he's so close to being a part of our family."

"Please," Kirsten pleads, "don't take him now. Our son, Seth, is very good friends with Ryan. It would destroy him to have his friend taken away."

"I'm sorry," Joan says, not seeming sorry at all, "but there's nothing I can do. The decision has been made and is final."

Sandy sits in shock while Kirsten begins to softly cry. Still sobbing, she pulls her cell phone out of her purse and begins to dial.

*******************

_Dad?_

"Kiki. How are you sweetheart?"

_Dad, they're going to take Ryan!_

"Slow down, Sweetie. What happened?"

Kirsten slowly begins to explain to her father what happened, starting with how Oliver came into the picture, and finally finishing with what happened in the hotel.

_Now Child Services is here and they said they're going to take Ryan away from us. Dad, you've got to help!_

"I hate to say it Kiki, but I told you this would happen when you brought that kid into your house. You shouldn't have expected so much from a little crook like that."

_I don't want to hear it right now, Dad. Can you help?_

"I don't know. Is he being charged with anything?"

_No, they said they have video surveillance that shows that the shooting was accidental and that the other kid was planning on using the gun against Marissa._

"Why should I bring him back to you, Kiki? You know he's just going to disappoint you again, maybe hurt somebody else. Who's to say that it's not you next time? That it's not Seth?"

_Right now, I'm more concerned with my son losing the only friend he has ever had. Will you help, if only to help out your grandson?_

"I'll be there soon."

**********************

"You have no right to take him!" Sandy is yelling at the woman from Child Services when Caleb walks in to the police station. The woman holds her ground, much to Caleb's surprise.

"I have every right! You were given custody of Ryan with the assumption that he would stay out of trouble and perform acceptably in school. He has succeeded admirably with the latter, up until he was suspended indefinitely earlier this week. However, he has failed spectacularly with the former. The director of Child Services has made the decision to remove Ryan Atwood from your care as foster parents and move him to a group home. "Officer," she says, directing her attention at a uniformed officer leading Ryan by the arm, "would you please escort Mr. Atwood to my vehicle?"

Caleb clears his throat, finally making his presence known. Kirsten is the first to see him. "Daddy," she exclaims, running over and throwing her arms around his neck. Sandy greets the man with a nod and a shake of the hand.

"Cal."

"Sanford." He turns to the Child Services worker. "Excuse me. I'm Caleb Nichol. I'm here on behalf of the boy." He gestures with his head toward Ryan, who is standing with his head hung.

"I'm sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me," the spectacled woman asks Caleb, her voice challenging.

Ballsy, he thinks to himself. Time to take her down a peg. "Yes, it is. It means that I, along with your boss, Leon Struckman, serve on the board of the Office of Family Assistance. Does that sound familiar?" He looks at the woman, who has a clueless look on her face. He lets out a sigh that says that he doesn't like dealing with people with meager intelligence. "The Office of Family Assistance provides California's Child Services department with over half of its operating budget for the fiscal year." He sees that he is finally getting through to the woman as her eyes open wide and her jaw drops. "I see you finally understand. Now, I don't have to tell you what kind of repercussions you would face from my good friend Leon if you refuse to hand the boy over to me, do I?" He smiles as the woman slowly shakes her head. "Good. I'll be taking Ryan with me," he says to the room in general. He motions to Ryan, who walks over to him, head still hung.

Sandy walks over to Cal. "Thanks, Cal. So we'll be seeing you at the house then?"

"No Sanford, you won't. I'll be taking Ryan to my house and then I'll be retiring for the evening." Caleb motions Ryan to the door and goes to follow him until Sandy stops him by grabbing his arm.

"You can't do that, Cal. He's supposed to be coming home with us!"

"Actually, I believe I just negotiated Ryan's release into _my_ custody, not yours." He moves a stunned Sandy out of the way and makes it to the door.

Ryan follows his new guardian, stopping in front of his old ones. He finally looks up and sees Sandy, tears in his eyes, his arm around an openly crying Kirsten. "I'm sorry. Thanks for everything. It's for the best." He lowers his head again and follows a waiting Caleb out the door. Just before he crosses the threshold, Seth runs in, closely followed by Summer.

"Dude," Seth says, looking from his foster brother to his grandfather, "where are you going? I thought you were being released. You coming home?"

Ryan looks at his foster brother, no his _friend_, then looks back at Caleb. The older man is wearing an impatient look on his face. He looks back at Seth, shakes his head, and follows the most powerful man in Newport out the door of the police station.

* * *

A/N: So I know you all were probably expecting a new chapter of aOCu, but I've been working on this for awhile and I figured it was about time that it saw the light of day. This started off as an idea for a new story wayyyy back when I was thinking of what to do after I finished 'Pieces of a Broken Heart'. I came up with this idea but, for some reason, I chose aOCu to do instead. It ended up just sitting around until I started looking through my notes one day. I found this story and started thinking more about it. I brought up the story idea to xWaltzforVenusx (Waltzy) and she suggested I do it. I suggested an alternative: that we do it together. We made it through a couple chapters before she took her hiatus. There it languished in idea purgatory. Again. I picked it back up a little while ago and started working on it again. So here you go. I hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think. Reviews are love, people!

AZ


	2. Chapter 1

Okay, so this is Waltzy's chapter. I think she did a great job, don't you? This was her only chapter for the story, but she still helped me get some ideas. Couldn't have done this story without her. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

She leaned against the column – Doric, gorgeously crafted, but she couldn't make herself care about that right now – and watched them carry in her bags. All her pretty luggage, bought to aid her escape to France, instead bringing here.

To Caleb Nichol's house.

Well, she guessed the term _mansion_ was a little more appropriate.

Castle, maybe.

She sighed, bringing her hand up to adjust her giant sunglasses, and continued watching the movers. Not a good looking one among them. Too bad, she was bored – she could've used a little fun, and who didn't like a man in uniform?

Alright, so they weren't exactly uniforms, more like coveralls with hats, but still.

"Taylor," a sharp voice hissed from behind her, but she barely even flinched. She was used to the voice; she'd learned long ago to control the complete fear that shot through her every time she heard it.

"Mother," she droned back, trying to sound as bored as she was. Trying _not_ to sound like she was – in fact – afraid of her own mother.

"Could you be any more useless?" her mother snapped, descending the final steps of the grand, curved staircase. "You could at least start unpacking."

"Yes, mother," she recited, biting back what she really wanted to say – that she didn't _want_ to unpack. She didn't _want_ to be here.

She wanted to be in France – beautiful France, with its beautiful art and its beautiful language and its beautiful people. She'd never actually been there herself, but all the things she'd read about it were wonderful. It was her life's goal to escape from her mother, move to France, marry some rich, romantic French artist, and spend the rest of her life drinking wine and discussing Anaïs Nin.

"Don't take that tone with me," her mother snapped again, looking around almost nervously. "You are going to be polite and civil and most of all, quiet. Only speak if you're spoken to, got it? I won't have you sabotaging this."

"Oh, but mother," she started, "you and Caleb are meant to be together forever, nothing can come between you two crazy kids."

The minute it was out of her mouth, she regretted it. Sure enough, her mother's eyes flashed angrily and she just _knew_ she'd be paying for that later.

You know, when Caleb Nichol wasn't in the house to witness Veronica Townsend being a bad mother.

"Funny," her mother said, instead of whatever response would have come out back home. "But we both know what this is; I'm not pretending its _true love_."

Ah yes, true love. She'd grown up hearing it over and over again: true love doesn't exist. In fact, as far as Veronica Townsend was concerned, love itself didn't exist. Relationships existed for the sole purpose of furthering one's position in the world and providing certain physical… _releases_. Love and companionship? Not so much.

"Yes mother," she recited again, hoping to get back in the woman's… lukewarm graces.

"We need to make the best of this, remember. I will _not_ end up like Julie Cooper."

She nodded, saved from having to speak as her mother's meal ticket walked in.

"Veronica," he greeted with a smile and open arms.

"Cal!"

She watched as her mother simpered and smiled and acted like a human being as she went over to stand with him, the man's arm around her waist. Beneath her sunglasses, Taylor rolled her eyes.

Julie Cooper indeed.

Her mother was damn lucky, that was for sure. Apparently after Marissa Cooper's psychotic friend shot himself, the girl had a complete meltdown. She was talking comatose-staring-at-the-wall-incoherent-mumbling _lost it_. And the weirdest part was, she actually felt _bad_ for the girl. Watching your boyfriend and your supposed friend fight until one of them is shot?

Although, maybe that was just what you got for befriending psychos and felons.

She watched her mother and Caleb Nichol talk and laugh – good God, who knew her mother could actually _laugh_?

Veronica was only half right – _she_ was lucky.

After the little 'incident' – as everyone around here liked to call it – the Coopers had left Newport. It'd been the biggest news since the felon first came along: Julie and Jimmy Cooper had not only gotten back together, but they had moved off near some psych ward, where Marissa was apparently being treated for post-traumatic stress.

So her mother was lucky, because with Julie Cooper out of the picture, she'd had room to swoop in and snatch up Newport's most eligible bachelor. And now, four months later, they were moving in.

It was – honestly – like some sick twist of fate and she couldn't help but think that things shouldn't have turned out like this.

Because seriously?

Veronica Townsend and Caleb Nichol?

That was ridiculous.

…

It was summer.

Usually she loved the summer. She loved getting away from people – three solid months of being able to do whatever she wanted without people judging her. Well, except for her mother, but that was just a constant, daily given. But summer… three _whole_ months to herself.

And it was completely ruined, because instead of her mother's yearly _single_ trip to Cabo, she was now stuck in a house with her mother, Caleb Nichol, and the felon.

Ugh, _the felon_.

Why was he still here, anyway? Shouldn't they have carted him off to Juvie – or at least the nuthouse right along with his girlfriend?

He didn't _belong_ in Newport – everyone could see it.

It wasn't his fault; the poor boy just wasn't built for it. He was built for… like, hammers and mops. Custodial work and the like. Definitely _not_ top private schools and expensive watches and philosophical debates. So what was he still doing here?

It wasn't out of the goodness of Caleb Nichols heart; that was for sure. The man made it _quite_ obvious that he – like the rest of Newport – detested the boy. So _why?_

The only answer she could come up with had to do with another classmate; one that was actually related to Caleb. Seth Cohen was – to anyone who cared enough to examine the situation – the focal point of all this. Not Caleb, not the felon, not even Sandy and Kirsten Cohen.

It was all about Seth Cohen.

_His_ grandfather; _his_ best friend. He was the link. It sure as hell wasn't for Sandy Cohen that Cal did this – his contempt for his son-in-law rivaled his contempt for the felon. And he kept a tight leash on his fondness for his daughter, so it couldn't be her, either. No, it was the grandson.

"Do you always talk to yourself?"

She spun around, letting go of the refrigerator door – that she'd been holding open for what must have been at least ten minutes while she'd been thinking, and now her front was quite cold – to see said felon standing there.

Speak of the devil.

"I wasn't talking to myself. That implies that I believed there was another person in my head to answer, which I do not. I was simply and rationally saying my thoughts out loud so as to better hear them and put them into order."

From the look on the face the question had – obviously – not needed an answer, and was probably only meant as a rhetorical question.

Who asked rhetorical questions, anyway? Questions were questions for a reason, they were meant to be answered. So if you didn't want a question answered, you shouldn't ask it. What rational person didn't get that? Oh sure, she knew it was some people's definition of humor, but she'd never found it the least bit funny.

Although people seemed to find it _hysterical_ whenever she would answer one of these so called 'rhetorical' questions, like she was an idiot who didn't _get_ that they were trying to be funny.

She got it, but questions deserved to be answered.

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Talking to yourself," he gestured at her, like she didn't understand what _yourself_ meant.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest.

"Well, I was gonna get a drink," he gestured at the refrigerator, bringing his other hand up to rub the back of his neck. "But it's cool, I can wait. You know, if you wanna keep having conversations with it."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her therapist's words echo through her mind as she counted to ten.

Her mother had been very specific about not making scenes while Caleb was home.

So instead of slapping the idiot felon or – more satisfying, but less ladylike – kicking him in the groin, she stepped aside and let him get his drink. He didn't even thank her, he just opened the door and grabbed a water bottle, and she decided that if she couldn't maim him, she could at least _say _something.

"Didn't you kill a kid a couple months ago?" she asked, leaning up against the counter, and watched with extreme satisfaction as he tensed up.

"No."

Well, it wasn't the angry tirade she'd been expecting – and hoping for, just _itching_ for a fight she could actually win. And the way he said it, shoulders dropping, face blank, kinda took the fun out of even that slight victory.

She crossed her arms again and watched him, trying to figure him out. He was a felon, right? And not just a felon; a felon with repeated, multiple felonious attempts. In the scant week she'd been living here, she hadn't ever really talked to the boy, except for uncomfortable polite nods of agreement over equally uncomfortable dinners with Caleb and Veronica. Honestly, she avoided him – she didn't know if he was going to like, _rape_ her or something.

That's what felons did, right? That's why they were put in jail, so they… _couldn't_ rape people. That made sense.

So she'd honestly expected him to get angry and yell and throw things or – at least – fight back. And she really was looking for a fight, if she stopped to examine her actions like her therapist said she should. She was restless and angry at her mother for forcing this on her, and since she couldn't take this out on her mother…

But the stupid boy didn't fight back. He just stood there and… well, she really couldn't think of any better word than _sulked_. What the hell kind of felon just let himself get walked on by a hundred pound white girl with a trust fund?

"Thanks?" he questioned, and she recoiled a bit. What the hell had she said out loud this time? Her brain scanned the past couple seconds… ah. _'You're officially the worst criminal I've ever met.'_

"Really," she continued, figuring she might as well go with it. "Are _all_ felons this pathetic?" His shoulders lifted in a sad little shrug, but he didn't actually answer her question.

Which pissed her off to no end, because it brought back her old point, that questions are meant to be answered, and if someone asks you a question, you should at least have the common courtesy to answer that question, even if you'd rather not. How hard was it for people to get that concept? How many times did she have to stand there and wait until the other person realized that, yes, she wanted an answer and no, it better not be stupid. Seriously, she was beginning to think that every human on the planet was just plain dumb; herself excluded.

Crap, did she say that out loud?

Judging from the felon's face, she figured she didn't, and let him leave the kitchen without further impediment. She was actually glad he'd left.

He was _depressing_.

Well, he _was_ a felon, it made sense.

…

She sat on the couch and stared at her mother, unblinking.

Next to her, the felon was doing the same, except he was glaring at Caleb, instead of the horrified look she was giving her mother.

"For three months?" she repeated in a whisper, just to make sure she'd heard right.

She couldn't have. Her mother was a bitch, yes, but she wasn't _that_ horrible… right?

Right?

"We've been over this, Taylor."

Apparently she _was_ – in fact – that horrible.

"But…" she protested, eyes flicking over to the boy sitting next to her, then up to Caleb, then back to her mother. "You… can't!"

"Can't?" her mother asked icily, raising one eyebrow.

"You can't leave me here," she insisted, all the breath leaving her body at the next thought. "With _him_."

"Taylor," Caleb cut in, at least attempting to be nice. "I adore your mother very much, and we would like to have some time to ourselves, without work or the rest of Newport snooping in our business. So we've decided on a trip to…"

"Cabo," she finished for him. She knew her mother had a Cabo-dependency, but seriously? This was just ridiculous.

"You don't have to worry about bills," Caleb continued. "I'm having my lawyer stop in periodically to check up on the house and you, so don't think you can get away with anything." The last part he directed at the felon, eyes hard. The boy in question ducked his head, hair falling into his eyes.

He was slightly pathetic, in a really… mood-crushing sort of way.

Not that she was in a good mood to begin with, but still.

…

"Mom," she persisted, following the woman around the room as she shoved clothes into her Louis Vuitton luggage. "You can't do this to me! He's a criminal!"

"Jesus, Taylor," she griped, rolling her eyes, "he's not going to _kill_ you. And it's not like you're pretty enough for him to want to take advantage of you or something."

You know, she really should Google to see if they had a mother of the year award. She'd submit her mother on the basis that not only did she leave her daughter with a known felon, but she then proceeded insult her in the same sentence.

"Mom…"

"Look," her mother whirled on her, face intense and tight. "I've spent the last sixteen years babying you, the least you could do is let me finally try and be happy."

Babying?

Was there some sort of weird backwards dictionary her mother used to define these terms she threw around all the time? _Babying, mother, nice_.

Her mother had gone back to packing, zipping up a large suitcase with a sort of determined finality that told Taylor that no, she wasn't winning this argument. She never really did.

So she sighed and walked slowly into the hall, dragging her feet like that would prolong the time until her mother and Caleb left. She made it to the landing just in time to see the felon coming out from Caleb's study. She leaned against the railing and looked down at him and he saw her and looked up. They traded a look and she felt her hopes sink.

He hadn't gotten anywhere with Caleb.

This was really happening.

_Fantastic._

…

She and the felon watched as Caleb held the door open for her mother. Veronica, in turn, smiled and got into the car. Then Caleb walked around, got into the driver's seat, and the two took off without a backward glance.

This was _actually_ happening.

She'd spent the last week just praying that her mom had just taken been joking. She kept hoping that today would come, and her mother and Caleb would laugh about how they'd tricked her. But that hadn't actually happened. She came down for breakfast this morning and found the luggage piled in the foyer, the maid carrying pieces to the car.

So now here she was, standing at the top of the driveway with the felon, waving goodbye to the quickly disappearing car. Once it was completely out of sight, she turned abruptly to the boy.

"Alright, let's make some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" he asked, and she resisted the urge to hit him for, once again, asking a rhetorical question.

"Yes, ground rules. Rules to make this summer at least a little bearable."

"Fine." He just stood there and crossed his arms, obviously deciding _not_ to contribute to this conversation. Fine, whatever, she already had the rules made up anyway.

"One," she held up a finger, just in case he was a complete moron, "no parties. I don't care how much you like… crack, or whatever drug the kids are into these days, I won't tolerate it. Two," she held up a second finger as his eyebrow lifted, "there will be no unauthorized guests. That means that you must ask me before anyone comes over. Three," she held up a third finger, which made him roll his eyes, "you don't need to talk to me. The only reason we ever need to communicate is if there's a natural disaster or someone's robbing us – preferably not one of your friends."

"How am I supposed to ask you if I can have a guest over if I'm not allowed to talk to you? Can I only ask when there's a natural disaster?"

"Fourth," she gritted out, narrowing her eyes and ignoring his question – as much as it grated on her nerves. "There will be _no_ 'accidentally' walking in on me in the bathroom or the shower or my room. I don't know what kind of perv you are, but I'm letting you know now, I have a bottle of Mace and absolutely no qualms about using it."

"Believe me," he snorted, turning away from her, "there won't be _any_ problem with that last one."

Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise as he walked back into the house, leaving her alone in the drive.

Eventually she regained her senses and stalked after him, slamming the front door behind her. He was only halfway up the one side of the grand staircase, and she started stomping up the other side. "Hey!" she called across to him when she was at his level, and he turned toward her, pausing on the stairs. "How about you just stay on your side of the house, and I stay on mine?"

"Fine with me," he shrugged. "But that's gonna make getting food kind of difficult for one of us."

"Neutral area," she decided. "The foyer, too. Other than that, I see no reason for us to ever have to be in the same room as one another, thank you very much."

"Sounds good to me," he called back across the giant foyer, voice echoing in the high ceilings. Then he started back up again, and she glared across, keeping pace with him. When they reached the landing, she stared at him and he just looked at her with a dead expression. Then he turned, and – without another word – went into the East wing.

Anger flooded through her at his complete lack of interest – and her inability to get him to _fight_ with her.

"Oh, and rule five," she shouted after him, eyes narrowing when he didn't even bother to stop, "you're not allowed to _shoot_ anybody."

He didn't even flinch and she blew the bangs out of her face in annoyance.

Great.

Three months of this.


	3. Chapter 2

"Ryan," the voice buzzed in his ear. He thought that if he ignored it, it might go away. "Ryan!" No such luck. He swatted at the noise, the way one would swat at an annoying mosquito. "Ryan!" Dammit.

"What the fuck do you want Taylor," he asked, not opening his eyes or lifting his head from the pillow. God that girl was annoying. What happened to staying on each other's side of the house?

"Wake up! The lawyer is on his way! He just called and said he was leaving the office," she whispered. At least she had figured out that when the person you were talking to had a hangover, it was best to avoid loud noises. She can be taught, he thought to himself.

"So?"

"So?! So?! It's our first visit of many from him. I don't want him coming here and seeing what a mess you've made of your side of the house and calling my mother or your guardian and telling them that the house has dropped in value do to our inability to keep up with the simplest of chores, then have my mother come home and tell me for the umpteenth time what a disappointment I am, and then…" Ryan interrupts her ramble by placing an extra pillow over the top of his ear, in an attempt to drown out the noise. His head was throbbing. Great. Now she was smacking him on the back, over and over again, hoping to get him up. He'd had enough of this shit. He grabbed her last swing, catching her on the wrist and closing his hand on it painfully. He heard her let out a tiny, "Ow."

"Stop. Now," he simply said, rolling over to look her in the eyes. Her hazel eyes were wide, locked onto his. He saw that split second look of fear pass through them, and then watched as it disappeared. He released her hand and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his weary eyes. He heard a sharp intake of breath come from above him and looked up, hoping that he hadn't hurt the girl. Her wrist was cradled in her hand, but she didn't appear to be in pain as she was currently blushing. He smiled inwardly as her tongue darted out to lick her lips, remembering he was wearing nothing more than his boxer briefs. He ran his hand through his hair and pushed on the lump of covers next to him. "Wake up. You need to leave," he said in its direction.

"Why," a feminine voice asked from underneath the lump. Ryan looked back up at Taylor and noticed that the blush had deepened. Instead of looking like she wanted to jump his bones, however, she now looked like she wanted to break them. All. "It's too early," the voice whined.

Taylor's face continued to turn a darker shade of red as Ryan thought that her glare had graduated from angry to murderous. She smacked him on the shoulder again. "Rule two! Rule two," the girl hissed, smacking him again.

Her voice brought the woman sleeping next to him fully out her slumber. "Who is that?"

"My sister. Now go. My mom and dad are coming home."

The woman sat up in shock. Ryan took a good look at her and immediately wished that he hadn't. With her eye shadow smudged, lipstick smeared, and blush rubbing off, she didn't look like the sexpot that he had picked up the night before. Now, she looked like a Ringling Brothers reject.

"Your sister? You still live with your parents? I thought you said you were 25 and you lived in this huge mansion alone?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble. You should go before they get back," he said, pointing to her discarded clothes on the floor.

The woman took one look at Taylor's evil glare, grabbed her clothes from the floor, and made a mad dash for the stairs. Once she had left, Taylor turned to find Ryan standing in his under shorts, pulling on pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. Catching him in his drawers again momentarily distracted the girl and by the time she had recovered, Ryan had already exited his room. She finally caught up to him as he was descending the staircase.

"Where are you going now, hmm? Do you have another girl waiting down in the study for you, Lothario? Casanova? Don Juan?" Ryan ignored her attempts to anger him and continued to descend the stairs.

"Breakfast," he said as he walked into the kitchen. Ryan opened the door to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of tomato juice, a bottle of beer, and a single egg. Retrieving a cold glass from the freezer, he set that down on the counter as well. He looked up to make sure he had Taylor's full attention and, seeing that he did, he poured the tomato juice into the glass, followed by the beer and, to top it off, the raw egg. Tilting his head back, he drained about a third of it in one chug. Wiping off his mouth, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his pack of cigarettes, placing one in his mouth and lighting it.

"Oh. My. God. I thought you were having breakfast?"

"I am."

Ryan slowly drank his Red Eye, finished his cigarette and headed back for the stairs.

"You know, if you really wanted to go with the whole 'bad boy' look, you could at least grow a decent moustache."

Ryan refused to be baited into an argument with the teenaged Newpsie, and continued to walk in the direction of the staircase. He heard Taylor let out an exasperated breath.

"Are you going to help me clean up?"

He replied without any hesitation. "No," he said, and continued to climb the stairs.

*************************

_Knock, knock._

Ryan opened the door to see his guardian's lawyer standing on their stoop, briefcase in hand. "Mr. Bradford, I assume," he asked.

"I'm guessing you must be Mr. Atwood," the man said, pushed past Ryan and walked into the foyer. "Where's Ms. Townsend? You haven't killed her already have you?" Ryan rolled his eyes at the man's poor attempt at humor. It seemed everyone around her wanted to make the obligatory shooting joke. "You'd think you would want to take advantage the large allowance Mr. Nichol is leaving you two for _at least_ a few months before you allowed your violent tendencies to take over," the shark continued.

Ryan rolled his eyes, ignoring the comments from the idiotic lawyer, instead trying to calm himself down by counting to ten in his head. He followed the man around the house as he conducted an 'inspection' of the area, which basically consisted of him frowning and making disapproving noises as he furiously scribbled notes into his notepad. "I'm sure Taylor is up in her room changing, if you want to wait for her."

"Changing, hmm?" Ryan could see the look in the man's eyes and, instantly, his anger for the asshole returned.

"She's only 16 you dick," he spit out through gritted teeth. He saw the challenge in the other man's eyes and was about ready to toss out a very impolite offer, when Taylor chose that exact moment to appear.

"Mr. Bradford, how nice to finally meet you!" Ryan looked back and saw Taylor descending the stairs. She had her biggest smile on as she walked over to the older man.

"You must be Taylor," Mark Bradford said as he took her hand in his and kissed the back, causing Taylor to giggle. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, my dear."

"Well, Mr. Bradford-", Taylor began, only to be stopped by the lawyer.

"Please, call me Mark."

Taylor blushed. "Well, _Mark_, where should we begin our inspection?"

"Why don't we start with the young man's room," he said, pointing to Ryan. "I'm interested to see what condition his room is in."

Ryan exhaled in frustration as he followed the two in the direction of his bedroom.

_Later_

"I have to say, Mr. Atwood," the lawyer began, "I'm very unimpressed as to the sad state of affairs in your room. If it wasn't for Ms. Townsend promising to keep you in line with cleaning and upkeep," Ryan looked over to see a grinning Taylor, "I would probably have to greatly consider revoking your weekly allowance. As for you Ms. Townsend," the lawyer said, turning to Taylor, "you've done an admirable job attempting to keep your present company in line…" Ryan tuned out the rest as they lapsed into the French they had been speaking the entire time. He had had about enough of those two, making jokes about him all afternoon. He may not know French, but he was sharp enough to realize when he was the butt of a joke. He gradually picked up the conversation as he realized it was about ready to wrap up.

"Mr. Atwood? Here is you're weekly allowance," he said, handing Ryan a bundled wad of twenty dollar bills. "Remember what I said, and I had better see some improvement in your room before next week or this stack will be significantly smaller next time." Ryan snorted in amusement and the man frowned. Turning to Taylor, his grimace turned back into a smile. "Ms. Townsend, here is _your_ weekly allowance. I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the café in town? We would be able to discuss Nin's poetry in much greater detail without the intrusion of lesser intellects." Ryan didn't fail to miss Mr. Bradford making a slight motion towards him with his head.

"Oh, I would love to!" Taylor placed her bundle of money into her purse and grabbed her jacket as she prepared to follow Mark Bradford out the door of the mansion.

"Try not to burn the house down, Mr. Atwood," the lawyer said with a wave, which caused Taylor to burst into a fit of laughter.

"Vous êtes un homme si plein d'esprit," Taylor said, still giggling.

Time to put a stop to this, Ryan thought to himself. "Oh, Taylor?"

His roommate turned back to face him, impatience apparent on her face at being held up from her afternoon lunch date. "What do you want, Ryan?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you didn't forget your Valtrex. You don't want a flare up to happen in the middle of your lunch date, do you?" Ryan watched as Taylor's face flared up to the brightest color of red he could imagine. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to find her voice. Ryan looked over at Mr. Bradford, whose face had also changed color. Instead of becoming a bright red, his had changed into an ashy, white color.

"Oh, uh, Taylor," Mark said, looking down at his watch, "I don't think I'm going to be able to do that lunch date after all. I just remembered that I've got an afternoon meeting with a, uh, very important client." He grabbed his suitcase and practically lunged for the door, almost making it out before Taylor grabbed him.

"Why don't you give me your number, that way we can reschedule," she begged the older man.

"Yeah. I'll, uh, call you. Sometime." He finally succeeded in getting himself loose of Taylor's tight grip and slid out of the door, slamming it behind him. Ryan walked over to the window and watched as the man threw himself into his car and peeled out of the driveway. That would keep him from hitting on underage girls for awhile and it would keep him out of the mansion for the remainder of Caleb and Veronica's vacation. He imagined the rest of the 'inspections' would be conducted long-distance. He turned back around and caught the murderous look on Taylor's face. "What," he questioned.

"You ass! You hypocrite!" She began to smack Ryan's arm again. He quickly grew tired of that and grabbed Taylor, sitting her down roughly on a foyer chair.

"Sit down and shut up for a second, Taylor," Ryan commanded. He walked over to the other side of the foyer, grabbed another chair, and sat down across from her. "First of all, there is a big difference between what I did last night and what you were about to do. The girl I brought home last night was only 21. Or maybe it was 22," he asked, more to himself. "Whatever. Mark Bradford is at least 35."

"Who cares," Taylor interrupted. "He liked me and he was cute and he knew all about Nin's poetry and we had a very good talk about French philosophy while he was complimenting me on my taste in books-"

"Shut up, Taylor. You are a sixteen-year-old girl that weighs all of about a hundred pounds. If he wanted something from you that you weren't willing to give, do you think you could honestly stop him from taking it?" He watched as Taylor thought for a moment. "Exactly. You want to go out and bang or blow some high school kid, you go right ahead."

Taylor made a horrified face. "I'm not going to have _sex_ with some…child! I want my first time to be with somebody that knows what they're doing."

"Whatever. Just stay away from men that could do whatever they wanted to you and get away with it." He got up and walked in the direction of the garage, stopping as Taylor's last words finally caught up to him. "Wait. You're a virgin?"

Taylor blushed and looked away. "That's none of your business."

"You're right, it's not." He turned back towards the garage.

"Where are you going," Taylor asked.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," Taylor said, arms crossed and a taunting expression on her face. "I just want to know where to direct your former friend, Seth, if you're not back in a few days. I'm sure the Cohens would be glad to know that you've finally expired. Tell me, how long _has_ it been since they have called? You know, you'd think that if they missed you, they'd really try and contact you more often."

Ryan's face fell and he slammed the door on his way into the garage. Finding the key rack, he sorted through the many pairs hung there. Thankfully, Caleb had forgotten to place the keys in a more secure place, which meant that Ryan was free to…_borrow_ Cal's vehicles to go out for the night. He just had to make sure they were returned in the same condition that they left in. He reached up to the key rack and removed all of the hanging key chains. Pressing the lock button on each, he walked through the garage, checking out each vehicle as it beeped. Unfortunately, Caleb and Veronica had taken the Bently, so that wasn't available. Ryan pressed the button on one remote and watched as a motorcycle flashed it lights at him. "A motorcycle? Are you serious," he mumbled to himself. "Who the hell rides a motorcycle anymore?" He threw the keys back at the workbench. He pressed the button on another remote and tossed those keys back as well, unimpressed with the meager BMW offering. Pressing another remote, he whistled through his teeth as he came upon the vehicle that the remote belonged to. The Aston Martin V12 Vanquish was silver in color and in pristine condition. At a cost of about a quarter of a million dollars, this baby was Caleb's pride and joy. And Ryan was going to drive it.

_Later_

Ryan drifted sideways into Caleb's private driveway and slammed the humming car into park. Stepping out of the car with his cigarettes and beer, he admired the ride that he had just used to tear apart the streets of Newport. He promised himself that he would clean it up tomorrow, and he walked with his purchases into Caleb's house. Locking the front door behind him, he walked into the kitchen and almost set his entertainment for the evening in a large pool of blood on the kitchen counter. As he looked around the counter, he spotted a large knife with more blood around it. Realizing that it was odd that he hadn't heard from Taylor since he had been back, he left the kitchen in a hurry and began to run up the stairs, yelling her name. "Taylor," Ryan called, and charged into her room to find her sitting on her bed, crying and cradling her wrapped and bleeding hand.

"Go away Ryan. You just violated rule four _and_ made an unauthorized trip into my part of the house's territory."

"Jesus," Ryan said as he leaned back against the doorframe. "I thought you were dead. I saw the knife downstairs with the blood and everything and I though someone broke in." He walked over to inspect Taylor's cut hand, only to have Taylor push him back with her good one.

"I said go away. I don't need your help."

"Bullshit, Taylor. You're already soaking through that rag. If you don't stop the bleeding, you'll eventually pass out and die from blood loss."

"I can figure it out, Ryan. Why don't you go get drunk and hit on some shit-faced barfly at some crappy…bar."

"Godammit, Taylor! Stop being so fucking hardheaded and independent. You need help and I'm here to give it. Jesus," he said as he shook his head in exasperation. "I'll be back in a second." He returned a moment later, bearing a bottle of peroxide. "I need you to take the rag off of your hand for a second, Taylor." She does and Ryan sees the deep gash on her palm. "Shit Taylor. What were you doing?"

"Cutting up vegetables for dinner. Is it bad," she asked the boy, a concerned look on her face.

"Well, it's not great. Can you move your fingers?" She flexes her hand a small amount. "That's good, that means you didn't sever the tendons in you hand and you won't need surgery. Now," he held up the small bottle in front of her, "this is going to hurt a bit, but I need to clean the wound out so you don't get an infection." Taylor nodded and Ryan poured the acid into the wound. Taylor screamed as it killed the bacteria. She hit Ryan in the chest as she cried softly. "What was that for," he asked her.

"That…hurt…you…ass," she said around sobs.

"I know, but it's important to do that so it prevents infection. I'm going to put this gauze on your cut so you need to remember to change it every now and then. Make sure that you keep it tight against the palm of your hand in case it starts to bleed again. If it bleeds too much, let me know and we'll go to the hospital." Ryan stood up and began to walk downstairs, before Taylor could stop him.

"Wait!"

Ryan stopped walking. "What?"

"Did you do all of that because you were worried about me?"

Ryan paused a moment before answering. "No, I just didn't want to have to call the cops and answer questions about why another teenager died while in my company." Having said that, he began to walk back down the stairs.

"Asshole," Taylor called down after him.

"Bitch," he yelled back at her.

* * *

Okay so this is my next contribution. Hopefully it's enjoyable. Let me know what you think. Sorry for the short A/N but I'm going to be late for my Philosophy test. Review please!

AZ

Author's edit: I have to clear something up that I forgot to put in the first time. For those that were wanting more Cal/Ryan interaction, don't give up. He only went on vacation. He's going to come back. And I'm not planning on doing a day by day retelling of Ryan and Taylor's time. You'll get your Cal, that I promise.


	4. Chapter 3

"How does your hand feel?"

Taylor, startled out of her daydream, looked over at the boy driving. "What?'

"How's your hand," the boy asked gruffly, a note of annoyance in the question.

"It's okay. It feels weird. Itchy. I don't really know how to describe it." She paused for a second to collect her thoughts. "Thank you for taking me to the hospital. You didn't have to do that."

Ryan snorted in amusement. "So I should just have let you sit around the house and bleed every other day? No thanks."

"Your concern is touching, Ryan."

"Please. I got tired of cleaning up after you."

Taylor frowned and sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest as she did. It seemed like every time she reached out to him, to bridge the gap between herself and the felon, not only did he not accept her peace offering; he shot it, plucked it and ate it for dinner.

"Why do you hate me so much," Taylor asked, more to herself than the boy driving.

"I'm a felon, remember? I hate everyone." He swung the car into an empty stall in front of the liquor store. "Look, Taylor. I know you don't particularly care for my company and that's fine. I don't particularly care for yours. You're stuck up, a bitch, and people can't stand to be around you."

Taylor's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why, you pompous, arrogant little-"

Ryan simply held up his hand. "I'm not done yet. I was going to add that there are good things about you, too. You're smart and you can do anything you put your mind to. And you're hot. But you're also fucking crazy and you never shut up."

"I'm hot?" She watched as Ryan rubbed his head in frustration. What was happening here?

"Stop interrupting me, Taylor. The point I'm trying to make is that it's too much work to have to take care of you. I can barely take care of myself right now, let alone have to look after you, too. I can't keep taking you to the hospital so that you don't bleed all over the place or taking one of Cal's cars to the body shop because you dented it. Are you following?"

Taylor nodded.

"Good." He motioned towards the liquor store. "You want anything?"

Taylor shook her head.

"I'll be back," he said as he got out of the car.

Taylor watched him walk away, a dazed look in her eyes. He thought she was hot.

***********************

"Shit."

"What," Taylor asked, looking over at Ryan.

"Seth's here."

Sure enough, the curly-haired Cohen boy was skateboarding around the massive driveway.

"Do you want me to hide? I could lean the seat back? Or I might be able to squeeze down into this little area under the dashboard…" Taylor unbuckled her seat belt and began to push her small frame down into the foot well until Ryan's voice stopped her.

"What in the hell are you doing," he asked. "He knows you live here. He was at the wedding, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Not that she remembered much about the wedding. She was still in denial at that point.

Ryan slowed the vehicle to a stop and Taylor followed him in exiting the automobile.

"Hey man," Seth said, running up to the car. "Where've you guys been? I've been waiting around for, like, an hour or so, just skateboarding. And drinking Red Bulls. This driveway is huge! I think it might be a bit smaller than Daytona, but you could easily fix that by taking out that house over there and-"

"Go home, Seth," Ryan said resignedly. He shifted the liquor in his hand and reached for the house key in his pocket.

"No can do, buddy. You just got back. Check this out," he said, and took off his back pack. "I brought the Playstation over. I thought maybe we could play the ninja game?"

"I SAID 'GO HOME' SETH," Ryan yelled, which startled Taylor.

"Dude, Ryan, you can't keep doing this," Seth said, standing in front of both of them. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was. If I hadn't gone there, something different might have happened. Oliver might still be alive. Marissa might still be here. Face it; I'm doing you guys a favor by staying away."

"You're doing us a favor," Seth asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I am. You guys are better off without me." Taylor watched as Ryan hung his head. So this was the reason that her insults and barbs and harsh words never managed to faze the boy. He was already feeling everything she said, deserved or not.

"That's not true, man." Seth pauses. "Just come over to the house for awhile. You know, see the folks, let them know you're okay?"

"That's not going to happen, Seth."

Seth moved toward his friend. "Come on, let's hug it out. We'll skip over the whole gay vibe thing-" He was cut off as Ryan shoved him away sharply.

"Just don't anymore, okay?" Ryan walked into the house, leaving Taylor and Seth in the driveway.

Taylor looked at Seth's drawn face and sighed. She wished that she hadn't been left out there alone with the broken-hearted boy. "Look, maybe he just needs some time to get over it."

Seth looked back at her, as if actually noticing her for the first time. "Yeah, Taylor. Sure. Just look after him, okay," he asked, a hitch in his voice. "Keep him from losing too much hope." He grabbed his skateboard and rode away.

***********************

Taylor turned off the television and trudged upstairs for bed. One of the few good things about living with Caleb Nichol was that he got more TV channels than anyone else in the world. She had stumbled upon the French-Canadian television network SRC the other day and, since then, had been engrossed in the world of téléromans, or French soap operas. She looked at the clock on the landing and, noticing that it was close to midnight, she realized that she hadn't spoken to or heard from Ryan since the run in with the Cohen boy. She decided that she would make a side trip to his room, if only to show him the same courtesy he showed her a couple weeks ago. Taylor walked up to his door and listened for a second. Hearing nothing, she knocked on the door. She waited for a moment and, still receiving no answer, knocked again. She quickly grew impatient and walked into the boy's room. He was sitting on the chair in his room, the bottle of liquor purchased earlier in the day placed between his legs and a cigarette dangling from between his lips.

"What do you want, Taylor," he asked. "I thought you were staying on your side of the house and I was staying on mine?"

"Oh, I still am," she replied as she ran a finger over the surface of his dresser. She clucked to herself as her finger came back up covered in ash. "I just hadn't heard from you since we got back earlier, so I thought I'd make sure you were still alive." She looked around the room and was disturbed at what she saw. Empty liquor bottles were everywhere, along with at least three ashtrays filled with cigarette butts.

"Yep, I'm still here. Now, if you don't mind?" He held up his hand, his finger pointing to the door behind her.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"What? About you leaving? Yeah, I did. No, don't sit down," he said as she did exactly that.

"No, you moron. About the Cohens, being better off without you?" God, was he born stupid or did he do these things intentionally, just to piss her off?

"Well, they are. It's not safe for them with me there." He grabbed the bottle from his lap and swallowed another shot. "No more conversation. Either stay and drink or get the hell out."

Taylor stood up, careful to wipe as much filth off as she could, and left.

*******************

Taylor was curled up on the love seat on her side of the living room when a voice rang out from the foyer.

"I'm going to the liquor store."

She dropped her book on the couch and poked her head out from behind the doorway. Ryan's hand was already on the doorknob. Apparently, he wasn't planning on waiting for her to acknowledge him. "Oh! I'm going too," she said, stopping the boy from leaving the house. She grabbed her purse from the table and joined him at the door. She watched him roll his eyes.

"Whatever."

********************

"So what do you want," Ryan asked as he shut off the ignition.

Taylor sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and began to bite it. "I don't know," she said, freeing the captured lip. "What's good?"

"You don't know what you want," Ryan asked, giving Taylor a skeptical look. "Have you ever had alcohol before?"

"Of course I have," she said, a little too quickly. "My mother has given me a couple glasses of wine with dinner before. Well, actually, it was more like I gave them to myself. You see, she had already started before dinner with her vodka and tonics and I think she made them extra hard that night, because-"

"Okay, I don't really care. But, really? Wine?"

"Yes, wine. As a matter of fact, I would like a bottle of their finest merlot."

"Taylor, it's a corner liquor store," he said, pointing at the grubby building with grates over the windows. "They're not going to have a 'finest' merlot."

"Just get me a bottle of merlot. Or a nice cabernet, if they have one."

***********************

"This is no fair," Taylor slurred. "I'm _really_ drunk and you're not really anything." She shifted the cigarette in her hand and coughed. She felt like she needed to wave the cigarette smoke away before she could actually see the other teen. Lord only knew why she was sitting here in his room, extremely drunk and _smoking a cigarette_. How did he convince her to smoke?

"Atwood family genes. We're bred for drinking." She watched as he took another drink from his bottle of whisky. His second bottle. How many bottles had she gone through? She picked up her bottle of wine and swirled it around. The bottle was alarmingly full. She must be on her second bottle, too.

"Yeah, well I have Townsend family genes. I'm bred to be a bitch." She tried to take another drag of her cigarette and coughed. Again.

"Yeah, well, you're doing a great job so far."

It's too bright in here, Taylor thought. She grabbed his sunglasses from the dresser and put them on. What time was it, anyway? "I may be a bitch, Ryan Atwood, but you think I'm ho-ot." She said the last part with a sing song voice.

"You're even more annoying when you're drunk, you know that?" He shook his head. "Yeah, so you're hot. Now if I could just sew your mouth shut and you'd stop being a spiteful bitch, you'd be the perfect girl."

Taylor tried to take another drink out of her bottle and almost spit it everywhere. "Funny." Maybe she hadn't had as much as she thought. Was she still on her first bottle? Her head hurt. "Face it, Ryan Atwood: You think I'm hot _because_ I'm a bitch."

"Whatever." Silence reigned for a minute as Ryan stamped out his cigarette and lit another. "Why _are_ you such a bitch, anyway? Do you actually like having no friends?"

She mentally swam through the thick soup that was her thoughts for a moment. "Friends are worthless, Ryan Atwood. In the end, everyone is only looking out for themselves. If high school has taught me anything so far, it's that you have to hurt people before they can hurt you first."

"You sound like your mother."

"Fuck, you're right." Taylor held her hand up to cover her mouth and giggled. "Oops. Sorry."

"I'm not 12, Taylor."

"Right." She took another swig of her wine and tried her hardest not to gag on it. Actually, it seemed that the more she drank of it, the easier it was to tolerate. "So why do you put up with me? I'm always mean and calling you names. My own mother won't put up with me." She lifted the wine bottle to her lips and took another drink. "Fucking bitch," she muttered.

Ryan smiled and shrugged.

"Seriously, I thought you would have killed me by now."

"It would be pretty boring being here all by myself. Even if all you do is insult me, at least I have somebody that talks to me."

"And because you think I'm hot," Taylor taunted.

"Sure, Taylor. And because I think you're hot."

"So do you want to kiss me," she asked the boy.

"Huh?"

"Would you rather make out, or is that the same thing," she asked, taking off the sunglasses.

"They're the same thing, Taylor."

She took another swig from the bottle, this one larger. "Okay, well are we going to?"

"I don't know. I've never had a girl ask that before. It usually just happens." Ryan stared at her strangely. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah. So you keep telling me. Bad Taylor," she said, scolding herself. "Stop being so strange in front of the felon." She looked back over at Ryan. "Is that better? Can we start with the kissing now?"

At Ryan's nod, she got up off of her chair and walked over to where Ryan was sitting. She sat down on his lap, leaned in and closed her eyes. She opened them immediately as she felt a gurgling in her stomach. Knowing that she was going to throw up, her eyes widened and she got up and ran toward the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before she emptied her stomach's contents into the bowl.

"You okay," she heard a voice say from behind her. She turned around to see Ryan standing at the doorway.

"Peachy." She heard him chuckle. "It's not funny," she yelled and then turned back to the toilet and threw up again.

"It is a little. Are you feeling any better?"

"I think I'm done throwing up."

"Good. Let's get you up off of the floor." She looked at Ryan's hand skeptically.

"Fine." She grabbed his hand and he slowly helped her up.

"Let's get you cleaned up and I'll help you to bed," he said as he dragged her to her own room.

"Ryan?"

"What?" He opened the door to her room and pulled her inside.

"Do you still want to kiss me?"

Ryan laughed. "Not right now I don't."

* * *

A/N: Okay, so this is my first chapter from Taylor's POV. I'm not sure how it turned out. Taylor is really hard to write for me. The best way I can describe for those that haven't done it before is to take about four or five topics, come up with an idea relating to those topics, then build one long run-on sentence with those ideas. Then add a bit of bitchiness, a touch of low self-esteem, and a lot of 'holier-than-thou' attitude. That's how I think of Taylor. Unfortunately, I'm none of those things so it's difficult for me. Waltzy put it as crazy people write crazy best. I think that describes it, too. So I think I'm either going to go with a neutral POV for the rest of the story, or just do Ryan's perspective. Any input you have would be appreciated. Thanks in advance for reviewing!

AZ

Oh and little BTW here, I haven't forgotten about aOCu. I'm just feeling really uninspired to write that right now. I know where the story is going and I have it all planned out, it's just that everytime I sit down to work on it, I always just blank and can't motivate myself to do anything with it. I'll get back on it, I promise.


	5. Chapter 4

_*3 Weeks Earlier*_

"_Ryan!"_

_The voice echoed through the foyer._

"_Ryan! Are you here?"_

"_What do you want Taylor," he called, exiting Caleb Nichol's study. "I'm a little busy."_

"_I need your…help with something. Just a teensie-weensie, itty-bitty little favor," Taylor said, holding her fingers close together for emphasis._

"_Uh huh. What did you do?" Hey eyed the spastic girl warily and took a drink from his beer._

"_Oh, nothing really. I just, well, __**ran **__into a little problem while I was out shopping. Maybe you could just come outside and I could show you?"_

_Ryan drained the remainder of his beer and disposed of the empty can in the waste basket. "Sure, why not?"_

_Taylor crinkled her nose, walked over, and grabbed the empty beer can from the garbage, a look of disgust on her face. "Ryan Atwood! We recycle in this house!" She let out a gasp as she saw how many other empty cans were in the trash. "Mon dieu! How much have you had to drink today?"_

"_A lot," her replied, letting out a thunderous belch for emphasis. "Let's just go outside and get this over with, Taylor."_

"_Wait," she yelled, blocking his access to the door. "Promise me that you won't overreact and start yelling?"_

_Ryan raised his eyebrows in response._

"_Right. Well. Follow me then. And remember, you promised not to overreact." Taylor opened the door and led Ryan out to the driveway, where one of Caleb's Mercedes was parked in the circular drive. This particular model was the CL 600 and it was a beauty. Ryan had driven it himself a couple of times and, man, did it have some serious torque. He looked over at Taylor, only to see her fidgeting nervously and looking between him and the car. Oh fuck no._

"_Taylor," he growled._

"_You promised," she moaned, looking like she was on the verge of crying._

"_Where?" He followed her finger as she pointed in the direction of the bumper. Ryan moved around the vehicle and immediately noticed the large, basketball-sized dent in the front bumper. "For fuck's sake, Taylor! You just dented a 120 thousand dollar car! What happened?"_

"_I don't know! I was just driving down the road, thinking to myself if the sale at the mall that I saw advertised on TV was today or next week when I saw the most beautiful bird go flying front of my windshield. I tried tracking it because it looked like it had a white head and we all know how rare bald eagles are so I wanted to make sure that I didn't clip out country's national bird with the car. I finally figured out that it was just some stupid little sparrow, which was odd because it looked so much bigger when it was flying at me." She screwed up her face in thought and Ryan tried his hardest not to break something._

"_Taylor!" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Focus. What happened to the car?"_

"_Well, while I was tracking the stupid bird, the light up ahead of me changed. The person in front of me stopped really fast, so I had to slam on my brakes. I knew I wasn't going to stop in time, so I swerved onto the median and hit the light pole."_

"_Jesus Christ," Ryan said, rubbing his forehead. "Okay, we can fix this," he mumbled to himself. "You didn't hit anyone so the cops weren't called. Were they," he asked the girl, who shook her head quickly. "Good. That's really good. Alright, I know a guy in Chino who can fix this. How much money do you have left over from the last allowance?"_

_Taylor opened her purse, pulled out the wad of cash, and quickly counted it. "Almost a thousand dollars."_

"_Good, give it to me." The girl reluctantly handed the money over to him. "I'll be back a little later," he said, climbing into the damaged car._

"_Wait," Taylor cried and ran up to the side of the door._

_He sighed wearily. "What?"_

"_Aren't I going with you?"_

"_No."_

_*End Flashback*_

"That's why you can't drive, Taylor."

"But it was only that one time and I promise I'll pay better attention and not look at any passing birds or think about any sales or-"

"I don't care. We can't afford to take another one of Caleb's cars in to the body shop again." Ryan sank the six ball in the corner pocket and stood back up to survey the table.

The girl sat down in a huff on the sofa in Cal's study and crossed her arms over her chest. "But I'm tired of eating delivery food all of the time and we ran out of groceries a week ago, right after I cut my hand. Just take me to the diner, Ryan. I'm hungry."

"Why don't you just call a cab," he offered as he pocketed another ball, this one a stripe.

"Great idea, Ryan Atwood. Yes, I'll just go call a taxi. And when that cab driver turns out to be a psychotic serial killer that rapes and mutilates young co-eds and I'm his next victim, _you_ can explain to my mother and Caleb why it is that you couldn't be bothered to take me to get food, instead pushing me off on some murderous cabbie who-"

"Okay, I get it," he said, holding his hands up in defeat. "Let's go." He set the cue down on the pool table and grabbed his jacket. "Does anyone every say no to you?"

"Not yet."

***********************

"Double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a coke," Ryan said and handed the menu back to the waitress. Despite his earlier apprehension to the idea, it did feel pretty good to get out of the house. He had quit going to the bar as often since it was cheaper to drink at his own place, which meant that there weren't very many places he needed to go. Also, the less Caleb's cars were driven, the less likely one would be involved in another accident.

He looked around at the diner, wondering how long it had been since he'd eaten there. Six, seven months? He couldn't really remember, but he was pretty sure that he'd been here with Marissa. Probably Seth and Summer, too. He missed them sometimes, but it was better that he wasn't around to endanger them. Marissa was proof enough of that.

He looked up as Taylor finally placed her order. "I'll have the house salad with a side of fat free ranch and a diet coke."

"Wait a minute," he said, stopping the waitress from leaving. "You're shitting me, right?" Taylor just stared at him. "We came all the way here so that you could get a salad?" She nodded. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"No, it's just that my mother said that I could stand to lose about 10 pounds before she left and I've probably actually gained weight since then."

Ryan held up his hand signaling her to stop. He'd heard enough of that crap. "Screw her order," he said to the waitress. "She's going to have the cheeseburger with a side of fries and a _regular_ coke, not a diet." The waitress nodded and walked away.

"Why did you do that," Taylor asked once the woman was out of earshot.

"Because your mom is an idiot. Nobody tells their daughter that she needs to lose 10 pounds."

"You really think so," the girl asked and Ryan almost pitied her. Almost.

"Yeah, you're good. I thought you were hot, remember?"

The rest of the wait for their food passed uneventfully, although Ryan didn't miss Taylor's glances at him. Maybe he'd gone too far with that last statement. He didn't really need Taylor getting infatuated with him. He had tried explaining it to her the night she got her stitches. He'd have to talk to her again. He tabled that thought as their food arrived and they dug in. They hadn't taken more than a couple bites when they were interrupted by a voice coming from the doorway.

"Well if it isn't Newport's Most Wanted and Least Wanted sharing a table." Chester Cook walked over to their seats accompanied by Chip, Doug, and his girlfriend. "What's goin' on Chino? Your probation officer let you off of house arrest?" Chester had moved to Newport after Luke and Oliver's spots had opened up. He had quickly found a niche as Harbor's resident bully.

"Funny, Cook. Roberts," he said, greeting the short brunette. It seemed like so long ago that she and Seth had been chasing each other.

"Atwood," she simply said in return.

"So we got ourselves a nice little pair here, don't we guys? A loser and a criminal. What is this, The Breakfast Club? Am I right," he said laughing. He held up his hand and received a high five in return.

"Baby, why don't we just go eat," Summer asked her boyfriend.

"Shut up, babe. We're having fun, aren't we guys," he asked, receiving chuckles in return.

"As engrossing as this conversation is, I think it's time Ryan and I got back home," Taylor said and raised her hand. "Check please?"

"Shut up, Dorksend," Chester said, pushing her hand back down.

"Touch her again and I'll fucking kill you, Cook," Ryan spat out, standing to look the other boy eye to eye.

"Oh yeah, Chino?"

"Yeah. You remember what happened to the last guy that messed with a girlfriend of mine, right?"

The smile fell from Chester's face. "I heard that was an accident."

Ryan shrugged. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Touch her again and you'll find out." He continued to stare down the other boy, hoping that he wouldn't call his bluff. Fortunately, Summer saved him.

"Come on, babe. Let's get out of here," she said, grabbing his hand.

"You're lucky my girl wants to roll, Chino, or I'd light your ass up right here. I really hope Dorksend is paying you well. You can use the money to pay for STD medication." He laughed again and high fived his boys as they left the small restaurant.

"Thanks," Taylor said once the teens had left. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's fine," he replied. "Let's just pay and get out of here."

***************************

_Ring, Ring_

Ryan looked over from the television, trying to decide if it was worth it to get up off of the couch.

_Ring, Ring_

Fuck it, he though. That's what answering machines were for, right?

_Ring, ri_-

Problem solved. Only the machine didn't begin its usual playback. The call must not have been that important because they hung up. Either that, or…

"Ryan! It's for you!"

Goddamn it. "Who is it?" Hopefully it wasn't Sandy or Kirsten or, worse, Seth. He thought they'd all given up calling a long time ago.

"It's Caleb," the girl called from her room.

Great. He wondered what the old bastard could want. Maybe that evil bitch, Veronica, had gotten a nasty case of dysentery. No, that wasn't good. That just meant that they'd be back sooner. "I'll get it down here," he called up and walked into Cal's office to get the phone there. "Hello?'

_Well, I take it by your voice on the line that you haven't been arrested again, which is comforting and disappointing at the same time._

"Nice to hear from you, too, Caleb. How is Mexico?"

_Skip with the pleasantries, boy. This call is business related. It's Seth._

That comment made Ryan sit up and take more notice. "What's wrong? Is he okay?"

_Your concern is touching, Ryan. Seth is fine. However, my phone is not. The battery won't hold a charge anymore due to his repetitive calling. Apparently, he came by the house a couple of weeks back to see you. Lord only knows why. He tells me that you dismissed him rather harshly._

"It's better that way. He shouldn't be around me."

_I agree wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, my grandson doesn't share our line of thinking._

"What do you want me to do, take him down to Chino? Go out to the bar?"

_Don't be a smartass. I heard my daughter is throwing a party this weekend._

"No."

_No? You'd better rethink your position, boy. You'll be back in jail with your worthless brother and you deadbeat father faster than you could ever imagine. Do you understand me?_

He pauses for a moment. "Fine."

_And take the young Miss Townsend with you. I'm sure she'd appreciate the social interaction. _Ryan snorted out a laugh. _Is everything else going well?_

A thought occurred to Ryan. "Actually, there's one more thing. Your lawyer is a pedophile."

_Really?_

"Yeah. He was trying to get Taylor into bed a few weeks back. I thought you'd like to know." Ryan's disclosure is met with silence on the other end. "Mr. Nichol?"

_I heard you. It'll be dealt with. Is there anything else?_

"No."

_Good. Veronica and I will be back in a couple weeks. I've instructed the staff to come back a week before that to prepare the house._

"Alright."

_And don't forget about the party. If I find out that you didn't attend, there will be consequences._

"Fine." Ryan heard the click signaling Caleb had hung up and placed the phone back in its cradle.

Fuck.

*************************

"Come on, Taylor!" Ryan looked down at his watch and sighed in frustration. Damn that girl. "We're already late!"

"I'm hurrying," a voice called from upstairs.

He tapped his foot impatiently for a few minutes before finally giving in. He took the steps two at a time and quickly reached Taylor's room. Seeing the door ajar, he pushed his way in. "What the fuck is taking so-"

"Oh my God!" The girl crossed her arms over her bare chest as Ryan averted his eyes. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"You were taking forever and the door was open…" He pointed in the direction of the open door, unintentionally removing his hand from his eyes.

"Turn around," she yelled.

Ryan complied. "Maybe you should keep your door shut," he countered.

"That doesn't mean you just come right in, Ryan Atwood. I'm sure you learned something resembling manners during your short stay at the Cohens' house."

"Fuck off. Are you done yet?"

"Yes, I'm done."

"Finally." He turned around and the sight before him stopped his breath momentarily. It was no wonder Taylor hadn't been wearing a bra. With the top of her strapless, misty blue dress pushing her breasts up, she really didn't need one. Breathe Atwood, he reminded himself. Once that was taken care of, he looked up at her face and noticed her make-up had been chosen to match her dress.

Wow.

The girl must have taken his silence to mean he disapproved, because a look of concern crossed her features. "What? Is something wrong?" She looked down at the dress. "I knew it. Mother kept saying that I could stand to lose some weight. God, I was really hoping that I wasn't going to have to wear that stupid girdle while she was gone, but I guess if I look too fat…" She began to reach behind her back to unzip the dress.

"No," Ryan yelled, a little forcefully. Not that he didn't want to see her topless again, but there was no reason for Taylor to feel this self-conscious. "You look great."

A smile spread across Taylor's face. "Really? Thank you, Ryan."

"Yeah, no problem." Ryan turned and began to march down the stairs. "Let's go."

"I'm coming!"

Not yet you're not, you hot little bitch.

*********************

"Mushroom leek crescent? Crab and brie filo?"

Ryan gave the guy a blank stare. "Go away." The waiter got the picture and quickly hurried off. "We're not staying long," he said to Taylor. "We're just going to make sure that Seth and the Cohens see me and then we're gone."

"Well, one down," his companion said and nodded in the direction of the bar. Ryan followed her gaze and saw Kirsten Cohen approaching him, wine glass in hand. He put on his best Newport smile (Seriously? Did he really have a Newport smile?) and greeted the woman. "Nice party Mrs. Cohen."

"Don't give me that crap, Ryan. What are you doing here?"

The fake smile dropped from his face. "I'm not here by choice, believe me. Caleb said I had to be here."

"So you'll honor my dad's demand to be here, but you won't answer _one_ of our many invitations to dinner? It's nice to know that your priorities are in the right place, Ryan," she quietly insulted him.

"Look, I really don't feel like doing this now. Can you just tell Seth I'm here?"

"I don't know if I should. Do you know what he went through every time you ignored his calls or refused an invitation to come over? It was like watching a little part of him die. But, for some reason, he still won't give up on you."

"Why? Do you guys really think that your dad is going to let me come back? That I'll go back to the pool house and everything will be normal again?"

"I just said that he hasn't given up." She took a drink from her wine. "I gave up a while ago. Enjoy the party, Ryan," Kirsten said as she walked away.

"That went well," Taylor said, rejoining Ryan. "You know, I don't think I've seen anyone alienate somebody that used to love them as fast as you. My mother's hatred for me took a full year to manifest after my father left. You took only half that. I'm a little impressed."

He glared at the girl. "Let's just go get a drink." The two walked over to the bar, Ryan getting a seven and seven and Taylor getting her merlot, and managed to find an empty table. Ryan took a sip of his drink and joined Taylor in sitting. "What," he asked, noticing the preoccupied look on her face.

"Nothing." She took a sip of her drink as well. "It's just that, well, didn't you hear them when we walked by?" She pointed over her shoulder at Chester and his friends. "The stuff about Dorksend and how much of a loser I am is old news. Now they've moved on to the theory that I must be whoring myself out to you because that's the only way you'd take me out anywhere."

Ryan looked over Taylor's shoulder and saw the group laughing and pointing in their direction. "Screw 'em," he said, refocusing on Taylor.

"I really don't think that would improve my new reputation as a whore, Ryan, but thanks anyway." She picked up her glass but Ryan pulled it out of her hand before she could take a drink. "Hey!"

"Pay attention, Taylor. I didn't mean that literally. I meant that you should forget about what they think. Who cares what idiots like Chester and his friends and people like your mom think about you? As long as you're happy, that's all that matters." He handed her wine glass back.

Taylor swirled her glass for a moment. "You're right. It's time I started being my own person. That's what your teen years are about, right? Finding out who you are?"

"Sure, Taylor." He took another drink of his seven and seven.

"And thanks. Again." She also took a drink, locking eyes with him over their glasses. All of a sudden, her eyes quickly moved to his right and she set her glass down. "Cohen number two, inbound. It's Sandy." Ryan simply nodded, but didn't move as Sandy joined him and Taylor at the table.

"Hey kid."

"Sandy." Ryan watched Taylor's eyes move rapidly between himself and his former guardian. He gave her a slight nod, understanding her not wanting to be there. Hell, he didn't want to be there.

"I'm just going to go freshen up my drink," Taylor said, standing and walking away from the table. Ryan watched her ass sway as she sauntered to the bar and had to suppress a shudder. Damn, she had a fine backside.

"Do you really think it's a good idea for you to be drinking here," Sandy asked, drawing his attention back to the table.

"Who cares, Sandy? Most of the people don't care that I have a drink in my hand. They're just happy it's not a gun."

"It's your life, kid. I'm not your guardian anymore; I'm not going to tell you what to do."

"Thanks." An uncomfortable silence settles for a few moments.

"So I saw Kirsten in the study, crying. I'm guessing you two talked?"

"Yeah, sorry."

Sandy shrugged. "It happens. She's taken everything just as hard as Seth and I have. She just channels her feelings differently. Seth withdraws, Kirsten drinks, and I…well, I just distract myself."

Ryan didn't respond, instead taking a drink, and waited for the man to continue.

"So is there anything you need? School supplies, money, anything?"

"Can you get Seth for me," he asked meeting the other man's eyes.

He thought he detected a hint of moisture as the man responded. "Yeah. Sure, kiddo." Sandy stood up to leave.

"Sandy?"

The older man turned back around. "Yeah?"

"I really am sorry. For the mess I left, for disappointing you guys, for everything."

"Kid, you've already been forgiven." He watched as Sandy disappeared into the house, presumably to retrieve Seth.

Ryan got to his feet and headed to the bar to retrieve Taylor. After a minute or so of looking, he finally spotted her at the far end, talking to a scruffy looking guy that was obviously hitting on her. He rolled his eyes and made his way over just in time to stop her from doing a shot. "Taylor. What are you doing?"

"Oh, Ryan! What a surprise! This is Jean-Luc and he's from France," she said motioning to the scruffy looking man. Ryan took a good look at the guy and instantly disliked him. "We were just going to do tequila shots."

"Yeah, I don't think so." He grabbed the shot glass and downed it, much to Jean-Luc's dismay. Apparently the guy thought he was getting some tonight. Not if Ryan had anything to say about it, he wasn't. "Come on Taylor, let's go sit back down."

"Okie-dokie. Bye Jean-Luc," she said, waving to the guy as she followed Ryan back to their table.

********************

Ryan looked at his watch. It had been well over 45 minutes since Sandy had walked off and Ryan wasn't sure they could stay much longer. Taylor was pretty drunk. She was currently rubbing his leg underneath the table and telling him how much she wanted him to take her home and fuck the shit out of her. Her words. Ryan finally decided enough was enough and that Caleb would have to be satisfied with him seeing his daughter and son in law. After much cajoling and promising to fuck her blind, he finally convinced Taylor to follow him to the door.

"Taking off already?"

Ryan turned in the direction of the voice and saw Seth sitting on the stairs. "Yeah, Taylor's a little drunk," he said, motioning to the girl hanging on his shoulder.

"Hey Seth," Taylor squealed and waved. "Look Ryan, it's Cohen number three."

"Thanks Taylor." He turned back to Seth. "Why aren't you at the party?"

"Please," Seth scoffed. "I'm gonna go out there and, what? Hang out with Chester and share stories about Summer? Have a wine chugging contest with The Kirsten? Talk about work with my dad?" No thanks."

"Things aren't going too good, are they?"

He watched Seth shake his head. "But hey, they were really good for seven months and that's better than nothing. At least I got to spend _some_ time with the girl of my dreams before she realized I was a total loser."

Ryan felt Taylor slump against him. She'd passed out on his shoulder. "Looks like it's time for me to go."

"Yeah, sure." He paused for a second. "We're never going to go back to the way we were, are we?"

"I don't think so, Seth."

Seth's last question and his response echoed inside his head as he walked Taylor out to the car and drove them home.

*********************

"Taylor, wake up," he said, lightly shaking the slumbering girl. He watched as she stirred slightly. "Come on, we're home." He stood back as she stepped out of the car.

"Thanks for taking me tonight, Ryan," she said with a yawn. "I had fun." He watched as she started to walk up the pathway that would take her to the front door. She seemed to be doing fine until her heel caught the edge of an uneven brick and she began to topple. Luckily, he was in perfect position and, instead of falling into the flower bed, she fell into his arms.

"You're welcome," he said softly, looking into her wide hazel orbs.

She swallowed thickly. "Wow. I think I just sobered up." However, she made no move to stand back up, instead continuing to meet his gaze. He locked into her stare for a moment longer before lifting her back up on to her feet without another word. He sensed her following him up to the door as he unlocked it and entered the dark and quiet house. He took off his jacket and threw it on the couch as he heard the door slam behind him.

"Um, Ryan," her quiet voice came, startling him slightly. "Can you help me with my zipper?"

He turned around slowly and saw her facing away from him; hair held up off of her neck, face turned his way, the corner of her lip sucked in between her teeth. God, he was ready to blow from that look alone. "Sure." Control it Atwood, he reminded himself. She's drunk.

Wait.

When had that ever stopped him before?

He stepped up to her back and, gripping the small piece of metal, slowly slid it down the back of her dress. He took in every inch of tanned skin, fully aware of the heat coming from her body. No bra, he remembered, as her bare back was revealed. A surprise _did_ great him as the zipper reached the bottom of its track. He saw down the bottom of her dress and there wasn't a scrap of fabric to be found. The hot little piece of ass had taken her panties off at some point in the night. That did it for him. He turned her around as she simultaneously let her dress drop.

Damn, she was hot.

He picked her up and captured her lips with his own as her legs hooked around his back. He carried her up the stairs making a right towards her room at the landing. He could feel a warm, damp feeling spreading across the lower part of his abdomen as reached her room. The logical part of his brain came alive to inform him that her juices were soaking through his shirt. He quickly shut that pesky part of his brain down, as he couldn't care less.

For the first time in the past six months, he was happy.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I know this has nothing to do with the current chapter but I just realized that I completely discounted Anna from this story. When Seth came into the police station in the prologue, he brought Summer with him, although I guess that could be construed as them being friends with Ryan and Marissa. But then I referred to Summer as Seth's ex in this chapter, even though they hadn't dated in canon until after everything went down with Oliver. Oh well. Okay, so I just fixed it. I think I've taken care of any plot holes. Feel free to point out any that I've missed. The last part of this chapter was extremely hard to write. I felt like I was writing porn. I hope you all enjoy! Thanks in advance for reviewing (Hint, hint)

AZ


	6. Chapter 5

Taylor rolled over in her bed, searching for Ryan's warm body so that she might wrap herself around it. Unfortunately, her arm encountered only empty space on that side of the bed. She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her tired eyes, and saw that Ryan's side of the bed was indeed empty. Noticing the early hour on the clock on her nightstand, she huffed out a breath and retrieved her robe from the hook on the wall near the door.

Every night since the party, they'd ended up back in her bedroom, fucking like rabbits. And every morning, she woke up to an empty bed. At first, she thought that maybe she talked in her sleep (She couldn't stay quiet at any other point in the day, why should sleep stop her?) or that she snored. After asking Ryan, and finding out that she did neither, she began to think that the problem wasn't on her side of the bed after all.

She opened the door to Ryan's room and frowned as she spotted his made bed, obviously unoccupied. Taylor began to worry until she heard the familiar clacking of billiard balls coming from the floor below her. Ryan was in Caleb's study. She gradually made her way down to the spacious room that contained Caleb's billiard table and spotted her (boyfriend? sex partner?) lining up to take a shot. She shuddered inwardly as he sank the targeted ball and ashed his cigarette.

God, it was just so damn hot watching him sometimes. He didn't know it, but she had been watching him for awhile now. Even before he was nice to her, back when she still despised the very thought of him, she knew that she was sexually attracted to Ryan. She'd watch him perform the most mundane tasks, like do his laundry or get the mail or go for a swim, and she would get sopping wet. At the time she just dismissed it as her subconscious and her hormones conspiring together to get her into trouble. Lately, she had begun to think of it as fate trying to tell her brain what her body already knew: She wanted Ryan Atwood bad.

"Are you just gonna hide behind the door frame all night or are you going to come in and sit down?"

Taylor let out a small squeak as she was startled out of her introspection by Ryan's voice. She composed herself quickly. "Sorry. I didn't want to interrupt."

Ryan set the cue down as she walked into the study and sat on the couch. "What's wrong, Taylor? Why are you up so early?"

"I should be asking you that, Ryan. Every time I get up in the morning, you are long gone. I'd be surprised if you've gotten more than four or five hours of sleep in the past week or so."

"Let it go, Taylor," Ryan warned.

"I can't. I'm sorry Ryan, but I can't let you do this to yourself. Insomnia can go on for months if left untreated." God, he was obstinate. And thick-headed. And sexy.

"I don't need your help. Just let me be." He stood back up and grabbed the cue from the table.

She shook her head. Why did he insist on making everything so difficult? "I can't do that either. Look, you've done so much for me, the least I can do is help you with this. Now, when I was in the sixth grade, I won the state science fair for my study of sleep disorders. I can totally help!"

"Fuck off, Taylor." He turned back to the table.

Well, not _quite_ the response she was looking for. "Hey mister," she said, walking over to the table and turning him back around. "Don't use that kind of language at me!" Ryan smirked and raised his middle finger in response. "Sign language is still a language, Ryan Atwood." Was he intentionally trying to piss her off? "Talk to me, Ryan. I can't help you if you don't tell me what the problem is." He stayed silent so she decided to push on. "Does this have anything to do with the party?" Ryan's shoulders tensed up and Taylor knew she had hit the nail on the head. "Look Ryan, I understand that you feel responsible for what has happened to the Cohens in the past six months but you have got to stop blaming yourself."

"You don't understand, Taylor," he said, turning to face her. "I messed everything up for them. I ruined their lives."

"You haven't ruined anything for the Cohens, Ryan. In fact, they're probably better off now than they were before you came here."

"You saw them at the party. Did they look happy to you?"

"I didn't say they were happy, I only said that they're not as worse off as they were before you arrived in Newport. You saved them, Ryan, and you only have to look as far as Seth to see that," she said, moving back over to the couch and sitting down. "You see, before you came here, Seth was about a year away from getting a rifle and shooting up Harbor's campus from the bell tower. You gave him a much needed friend, which kept him from going postal. Without you here, he probably loses it and the Cohens fall apart. So, while the Cohens are struggling right now, they are probably doing a lot better than they would be doing if you hadn't come around."

"Don't make me out to be some saint, Taylor. You keep forgetting that I killed some kid."

Mon dieu. He was so intent on being this terrible person. Taylor was beginning to get frustrated. "Ryan, without you here, Marissa wouldn't even have lived long enough to meet that psycho. She probably would have died in that alley in Tijuana. And that kid you killed deserved what he got. You can't go waving a gun around and not expect it to go off. You did the right thing. Who knows who he would have hurt if you hadn't fought him for the gun. Marissa could be dead instead of crazy. You probably saved her life."

"Why do you care so much, Taylor?" She noticed that a certain amount of weariness had crept into his voice. You're on the homestretch, girl, she told herself.

"Because I want you to be happy and you can't do that until you let this go. You have to accept that what has happened is in the past and no amount of brooding, while being sexy, will change that." She moved over as he came back to the couch and sat down beside her. "Why are you pushing me away, Ryan?" A thought occurred to Taylor. "Are you afraid that you're going to do something and I'll end up like Marissa?"

Ryan turned to face her. "How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" She was confused. What had she been doing?

"Reading my mind. Everything you've said: the things about the Cohens, Marissa, being worried about you; it's like you pulled them straight from my thoughts. How do you know what I'm thinking before I do?"

"I don't know. I guess it's because I think about you and I just want you to be happy. And I think you could be that with me. You don't have to worry about me, Ryan. I'm already crazy." She smiled at the boy, who smirked back at her. Barely. Well, it was a start. "You're not as dangerous as you seem, Ryan Atwood. Besides, I've got a black belt. I could totally kick your ass."

"Seriously?"

"Ryan, I'm all of five feet six inches tall. I don't think I could kick _anyone's _ass." She kissed him on the cheek. "Now come on, let's go back to bed," she said, standing up. "I'm tired."

"Alright." She grabbed his hand and he led her out of the study. "What made you so sure I'd listen to you?"

She smiled. "Oh, I can be _very_ persuasive."

Ryan nodded silently and continued to follow her up the stairs. "So are you really tired?"

She opened her door and turned and winked at the boy. "I could be."

**********************

"Let's do something," Taylor said from Ryan's lap. She reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. "It's such a nice day out. I'd really hate to waste it." She rolled over so she was looking up at his face.

"What do you want to do," he asked, meeting her gaze. "Caleb and your mom are supposed to be back in a couple of days so I really don't want to take one of the cars out."

That gave Taylor an idea. Oh she was naughty. When did she get such a dirty mind? "I actually just got the best idea, Ryan. Let's wash one of Caleb's cars!"

He looked back up and out the window. "That's actually not a bad idea. The BMW hasn't been washed since we took it out last week." He looked back down at her. "Are you sure you want to spend today washing a car?"

"Of course!" She sat up quickly and clapped her hands together lightly. "Yay! This is going to be so much fun!"

He looked at her a little strangely. "Uh huh." Taylor watched as he got off the couch and stretched. She tried hard to resist the urge to tackle him right then and there. Later, girl. "You should probably go change," he said as he walked in the direction of the garage. "Throw on some shorts or something."

'Or something,' was about right.

***********************

Please, please, please, let him think I'm hot. Please don't have him throw up when he sees me, Taylor prayed to herself as she walked through the garage. She could see Ryan out in the driveway washing the car, sans shirt. Her legs gave an involuntary wobble before she could get them back under control. She took a deep breath to calm herself and set the bucket of soapy water she was carrying down for a moment.

How had she gotten to this point? This was the same boy that she was once worried would rape her if left unsupervised for too long. Now, here she was, in a red string bikini she had purchased last week for an occasion similar to this, ready to offer herself to the aforementioned boy. That's not to say that she regretted what had transpired. If she had known sex with Ryan Atwood was _that_ great, she would have introduced Marissa Cooper to her psycho friend herself, months earlier.

No, it just seemed like everything that she thought she knew when the summer began turned out to be wrong. School would be starting soon and it seemed like there were more questions than answers. What were her and Ryan? Were they dating? If so, would they stay together once school started or would he be too embarrassed to be seen with her at Harbor? How did he feel about her? She was pretty sure that she was in love with him, but that was no surprise. She always did fall fast and hard for any man that showed her the slightest bit of attention. Did Ryan feel the same about her or was he just passing the time? Maybe he did care for her, but she got the feeling that she'd be old and gray before he admitted as much. And what about her mother?

Oh. My. God.

What _was_ her mother going to say about her dating Ryan, if that's what it was that they were doing? She was sure that Veronica Townsend-Nichol was going to have a few choice words regarding her daughter's apparent lack of self-control along with-

She stopped herself mid-thought. It really didn't matter what her mother thought. As Ryan told her at the party, who cares what she thinks? He was using it in a different context, granted, but she figured it would work here, too.

Her mood lightened, Taylor smiled and picked up the bucket. She walked out of the garage, to the top of the driveway, where a distracted Ryan was scrubbing the hood of the car and bopping his head to some synthesizer-heavy '80s rock. She set the bucket down, picked up a soapy sponge and cleared her throat. Ryan turned around and his eyes went wide.

"Hey, Ryan," she said in her best phone sex voice. "Wanna get dirty?"

**********************

Taylor leaned back onto her heels and wiped her lip with her finger, sucking it clean. Yummy. She looked up at Ryan and smiled. He was still leaning back on his elbows against the hood of the car, eyes closed, and breathing heavily.

She pulled her top back on over her head, retied it behind her back, and stood up. She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek, as she wasn't sure if it was against the rules to kiss the guy on the lips after you had just finished giving him oral sex.

The kiss seemed to awaken Ryan. He quickly squatted down and pulled his jeans back up. After he had zipped his fly and refastened the button, he grabbed Taylor by the back of her head and kissed her roughly, shoving his tongue into her mouth. He finally broke it off and it was her turn to try and catch her breath.

"Wow," she said, her hand on her chest. "I take it you liked my surprise?"

He smiled one of his half grins. "Are you sure you've never done that before?"

Taylor giggled. "Of course not! I guess I'm just a natural." She looked at the hood of the car and noticed the handprints, his and hers, all over it. "But look at what we did. We got the hood dirty. I guess I'll just have to wash it again," she said teasingly and reached down to pick up the soapy sponge from the bucket.

"Hold on a second," Ryan said. Taylor stopped and stood back up. "We've got company." She looked in the direction he was pointing and saw the car pulling into the driveway. It looked familiar but Taylor couldn't place where she had seen it before until it stopped and the driver exited the vehicle.

"Mark Bradford," Ryan said. He made the whispered name sound like a curse.

It seemed like forever ago that the older man had flirted with her and she had returned his advances. Luckily, although she didn't think so at the time, Ryan had interfered and kept her from making a huge mistake. She looked over at him and saw the nervousness in his body language. Taylor took his hand, reassuring him through the contact that she wouldn't be making _that_ mistake again.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Bradford," Taylor asked, her voice filled with false enthusiasm and a fake smile on her face.

Mark Bradford shifted nervously and Taylor wondered exactly what he was doing here. "I'm actually here at the behest of Mr. Nichol. He found out what almost occurred between you and I, Miss Townsend, and strongly suggested that I come back and apologize. It was either this or I was facing a long period of involuntary unemployment. I chose the former."

"Really," she asked, receiving a nod in reply. She placed her hands on her hips. "Well? I'm waiting."

Mark Bradford groaned. "I apologize, Miss Townsend, for flirting with you and trying to sleep with you. I would appreciate you forgiveness and hope that we can consider this matter closed. If you would relay that I came by to Mr. Nichol, it would be much appreciated." He turned and started to walk back to his car.

You're not getting off that easy, buddy. "Oh, Mr. Bradford? There is _one_ more thing." The man stopped, hung his head, and slowly turned back around. "I would like you to apologize to Mr. Atwood."

"Him?"

"Me?"

The look of incredulousness on the lawyer's face was matched by the look of confusion on the, up until now, silent Mr. Atwood's features. She smiled sweetly at Ryan and faced the lawyer once again. "Yes, him. You treated Ryan very badly the last time you were here and I want you to apologize."

Mark Bradford gritted his teeth. "Fine. I apologize for treating you like a felon, _Mr. Atwood_," he ground out. A smile quickly appeared on the man's face. "Actually, I'd like to thank you as well. Your quip about the Valtrex actually kept me from contracting a particularly nasty case of herpes."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "You moron. He only said that to get you to leave."

"Really?"

Now she was _extremely_ glad that she hadn't slept with the man. He was a pig! "Okay, I think you need to cool down, mister." She reached down, grabbed the hose, and unleashed a cold stream of water directly at Mark Bradford's groin. She could hear Ryan snicker as the older man squealed like a little girl and ran back to his car. He quickly pulled out of the driveway and the vehicle hurried down the road.

"Thanks for that," Ryan's voice came from beside her.

"You're welcome," she said and kissed him on the lips. "I owe you one, too."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do," she said in all seriousness. "I was terrible to you the first few months I lived here and you didn't do anything to deserve it. I'm sorry."

Ryan was silent a moment and she worried for a second that he wasn't going to forgive her. "How hard was that for you to say?"

"Ryan Atwood!" She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "It was really hard. Are you going to accept my apology or not?"

"Maybe later, when we're not outside." Taylor whimpered a little. "For right now, let's clean up this hood and put on a coat of wax. Then we'll get to that apology."

********************

Taylor moaned and threw her head back onto the soft, green felt of Caleb's pool table. She let out a high pitched squeal as Ryan's tongue found that special spot of hers, over and over again. Mon dieu, that talented _lingua_ of his was going to drive her _non compos mentis_. She needed him inside her, and she needed it now.

She reached down and pulled Ryan up from between her legs, kissing him hungrily as he rose. She tasted herself on his tongue as she sucked it hungrily into her mouth. Finally breaking the kiss, she rolled over so she was face down on the pool table. She turned her head back to face Ryan. "Fuck me."

He willingly obliged, parting her legs, and when he entered her, she saw starts. The pace he kept was just fast enough to keep her arousal peaked but slow enough that it wouldn't climb any higher than that. "Ryan," she moaned. "Fuck me harder."

He didn't answer, instead responding by quickening his pace and deepening his thrusts. The longer and faster strokes pressed Taylor harder into the felt of the table. Her nipples bared the brunt of this new stimulation, being rubbed to the point of turning bright red. Just when it seemed like she couldn't stand anymore and that she would pass out from the combination of pain and pleasure, Ryan gripped her hips, flipped her onto her back, and took one burning nipple into his mouth. The sharp contrast of his cool saliva on her scorching flesh brought her orgasm crashing down upon her like a six inches of snow on a blazing hot day. Just as Taylor began to return to Earth from her euphoric state, she felt Ryan release into her, which triggered another smaller orgasm. She felt him lower his head to her neck and kiss her softly as her heartbeat slowed down to its regular rhythm.

"That was amazing," she purred. She looked down at her reddened breasts. "I think you gave me rug burn on my nipples, though."

Taylor watched as he lifted his shaggy, blonde head from off of her shoulder and stared at her injuries. "Well, let me do something about that." She sucked in a sharp breath as Ryan softly blew cool air on the still wet nub.

"Oh, that feels so-"

"TAYLOR NICOLE TOWNSEND!"

The sharp voice caused Taylor to sit up quickly. Only one person could bring about that kind of fear just by saying her name. "Hello, mother. How was Cabo?"

* * *

A/N: So this chapter got pretty dirty on me. I knew it was going to be a little pornish, but I started to realize as I was typing it that I was going to have to increase the rating. Hope you guys enjoy. I think I'm just about done with this story. I foresee one more chapter and then a short epilogue and that's going to be it. We'll finally get to see some Caleb/Ryan interaction and a Veronica/Taylor 12 round main event. Thanks in advance for the review!

AZ


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Here it is folks, the last real chapter! I don't plan on making the epilogue too long but it will help tie up some loose ends. You'll see what I mean! Enjoy!

* * *

Ryan threw the blue rubber ball off the ceiling of his room and caught it as it bounced back down. Ever since Caleb and Veronica had returned home and caught he and Taylor going at it like animals on Caleb's pool table, they had both been grounded to their respective rooms. Other than closely supervised family activities, such as dinner and the like, they hadn't seen each other at all over the weekend.

Just the memory of being caught having sex with Taylor by Veronica Townsend-Nichol brought a blush to his face. That had been embarrassing enough but to add insult to injury he then had to sit through a lecture from Caleb of all people on safe sex practices. Jesus. Who was that old man to teach him how to be responsible? He bounced the ball off of the ceiling again.

Enrollment for the new school year was tomorrow at Harbor and he still hadn't heard anything regarding his or Taylor's status. Not that he really cared about himself. He'd done public school before and he really had no problem going back. Newport Union _had_ to be better than Chino Hills. It was more Taylor's situation that he was concerned about.

The girl was extremely intelligent, that much anyone could see, and she didn't belong at a place like Newport Union, or any public school for that matter. She needed to be at a place that would prepare her for college. A place like Harbor. If she wasn't going to be able to attend because of being with him, he'd never be able to forgive himself for costing Taylor her chance at a good college. For ruining another girl's future. Ryan knew that his chances of attending college were nil, but Taylor could easily go on to bigger and better things.

"And guys," he mumbled to himself as he caught the descending rubber ball once more. He sighed and reached over to grab his phone from the bedside table. Ryan quickly dialed the phone number that he had committed to memory since the weekend started and their punishment began.

"Hey Taylor," he said as the girl picked up the phone.

_Hey. Are you as bored as I am?_

He bounced the ball off of the ceiling again. "Probably more so. I'm bouncing a rubber ball off of my ceiling."

_I've been reorganizing my closet. Do you remember when I organized it by designer yesterday?_

"Uh huh." He caught the rebounding ball and threw it back into the air.

_Well, I thought it would be really hard to find anything in a hurry if I needed it, so I moved everything around and reorganized it by type, with a sub-category of color. I just got done doing a test run just now by having what you might a consider a scavenger hunt for particular clothing items and timing myself. It turns out that this organizational method is much more conducive to locating clothing items quicker._

"There's nothing to worry about, Taylor," he said, sitting up. "Just because we haven't heard anything yet doesn't mean that you're not going to Harbor."

_We, Ryan.__** We**__ will hear something soon and then __**we**__ will be going back to Harbor tomorrow to enroll for the upcoming term._

"Right, Taylor. Look, even if something does happen and I don't get to go back, you'll be fine. I don't want you to let anybody walk all over you like they did before, okay?"

_Don't talk like that, Ryan! We're both going to get to go back and everything will be like it's supposed to be. Think positive, Ryan Atwood!_

"I don't know. I just couldn't-"

"Ryan! Taylor," a voice booms up at them from the floor below. "Come down here!"

"Did you hear that, too," he asks.

_Yeah. What do you think he wants?_

"I think we're about to get out answer. I'll see you in a second."

_Sure. _Ryan hears her pause for a moment and he can sense that she's not done yet. _Hey Ryan?_

"Yeah?"

_Good luck. For both of us, I mean._

"Yeah. Good luck to you, too." He closed the phone with a snap and stood up off of the bed. Grabbing a shirt from the back of the chair in his room, he quickly threw it on and smoothed down his hair.

As he left the room that was his prison for the past few days and shut the door, he saw Taylor approaching the stairs from the other wing of the mansion. He saw the look of apprehension in her eyes and threw her a quick grin, trying to settle her down. His smile must not have been that convincing, because the look on her face graduated from concerned to worried. He was just about to reach for her hand as they descended when he spotted his guardian and her mother waiting for them in the foyer. He quickly dropped his hand back down to his side.

"Sit down," Caleb said once they had gotten down to the foyer, motioning to the living room. Ryan followed Taylor to the couch and was about to seat himself when Veronica interrupted.

"Separate seats."

Ryan glared at the woman and stationed himself on the chair nearest to the couch.

"Veronica and I have come to a decision regarding the enrollment status for the two of you for the coming school term. Ryan," Caleb said, looking in his direction, "I had decided upon you attending Newport Union for the coming semester-"

"No," Taylor yelled, standing up in shock.

"Be quiet young lady," her mother admonished her. "We'll be getting to you in a second."

"As I was saying," Cal continued, "we had decided on you attending Newport Union. However, once my daughter, her tree-hugging hippie of a husband, and my grandson were informed, I decided to, uh, change my mind. Despite my best efforts, Seth still seems to be quite fond of you, and Kiki has refused to return to work unless I give in to my grandson's wishes."

Ryan was dumbstruck. He wasn't being punished? What the hell was going on? He figured that he'd at the very least be sent to public school, if not put back into the foster care system altogether. "I'm going back to Harbor?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Since I know that you're completely without manners, I'll take your silence as a thank you. Know this boy: the first time you screw up, you'll be gone. And not just from Harbor. Newport Beach. Do you understand?"

Ryan nodded. "I do."

"Good. Now, on to you Miss Townsend." He turned to the younger woman.

"She can't go to Newport Union," Ryan interrupted.

Veronica laughed. "Oh, there is _no_ chance of that happening, Ryan. However, since it seems that my daughter has all of the self-control of an obese child at an all-you-can-eat buffet, we have a special plan for her. Cal?"

Ryan caught a look of displeasure crossing the man's features. Was he unhappy with the way Veronica was speaking about her daughter? Good God, did the old bastard actually have a _soul_? "Right, well. As your mother said, Taylor, we have decided that, since you and Ryan obviously cannot be trusted to be under the same roof, you will be attending a boarding school on the East Coast."

"What," Taylor asked, her eyes wide. "But… but… I don't _want_ to!"

"I don't care what you _want_, young lady. You obviously can't be trusted to be here unsupervised and Cal and I can't be around to watch you all of the time. Who's to say that I won't come home one evening to find out that you had fucked the chauffeur or the gardener while the neighbors watched? I won't have you living here, acting like some loose little hussy, endangering my image in the community."

That was it, Ryan thought as he watched a single, lonely tear fall down Taylor's face. He had heard enough. "That's enough! You can't talk to her like that! She's you daughter!"

"That's right, criminal. She _is_ my daughter and I will do with her as I please. What's the matter," Veronica asked, an evil grin appearing on her face. "You didn't get enough the first go 'round?"

Instead of getting into it with her, he directed his next question at Caleb. "Are you going to let her talk to Taylor like that?"

Caleb took a drink from his Scotch and set it back down. "Taylor is her daughter and she is free to raise her as she likes. Now go back up to your rooms and clean up for dinner. Taylor, I would strongly advise you to begin packing. Your flight leaves tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow," she asked, clearly on the brink of hysterics.

"Yes, young lady," her mother answered. "Now get up there and pack. Dinner will be ready in 15 minutes."

*************************

Dinner was a subdued affair, nobody saying anything aside from asking for dishes to be passed. Ryan looked over at Taylor from time to time, only to see her pushing her mostly uneaten food around her plate. The look she gave him the one time she _did_ meet his eyes scared him. She looked defeated.

After the meal was finished, the two teens silently made their way back up to their rooms. Ryan had just entered his room and closed his door when his phone began to ring. He didn't even have to look at the caller id. "Taylor."

_I don't want to go, Ryan._

"I know."

_We have to make them change their minds._

"You know that's not going to happen. Caleb is so hard-headed that he'll do anything to spite me and your mom seems pretty dead set on this happening, too."

_So you just want to give up? Do you not want me to come back to Harbor? _Ryan was silent for a moment, trying to structure his response so that he wouldn't hurt the girl. She spoke again before he could answer. _You can't even answer? I knew it. This was just some kind of fling for you, something for you to do to pass the time this summer._

"Of course it wasn't, Taylor. It's just that, well, maybe your mom is making the right decision for you here, even if it is for the wrong reason. Maybe you _are_ better off being away from here."

_Now you're taking my mother's side? This conversation is certainly doing wonders for my self-esteem, Ryan._

"It's not that, it's just…" He trailed off, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "This is what I was worried would happen if I got too attached to you. I was afraid I would do something to endanger you."

_But you haven't endangered me!_

"I've endangered your future, Taylor. This entire weekend, I've been worried that you'd end up at some public school and you're future at a good college would be ruined. Now you're going to a really good school where you can meet other really smart people and get a good education and go wherever you want."

_I don't want to go east and be with smart people. I want to stay here, with you._

"You don't want to be here with me, Taylor. You'll forget all about me when you meet some smart, handsome guy that hasn't been arrested before at some mixer at your new school. I'd just drag you down here."

_Ryan, you are just as smart as I am. Smarter even, in some ways. For example, I would have never had the presence of mind to take the dented car down to an auto shop to have it fixed. I would have just fretted about it until my mother and Caleb returned and then I would have been punished. And I wouldn't have been able to distract Chester like you did at the diner. I would have just sat there while he made fun of me. You're much quicker with your wits than I am._

"That's nice of you, but it doesn't matter. I can't let you put your future in jeopardy-" Her interruption made his eardrums vibrate.

_You're not putting my future in jeopardy! God, you're so obstinate. My chance at a good college won't be affected by attending public school. I don't' care about the higher standards at an east coast boarding school or the smart friends I __**wouldn't**__ make there or some cute northeastern boy that I have __**no**__ chance with. I care about __**you**__. I love you, Ryan Atwood._

Ryan was stunned into silence. She loved him? What was he supposed to say back, thanks?

_You don't have to say anything back. I know you are probably freaking out but I'm pretty sure that you at least care about me. I'm not going to make you say it back to me until you are absolutely ready._ He let out a slow breath that he didn't know he had been holding. _It's true, though. I love you and I think you could love me back if you had the chance. I would jump at the opportunity to go to Newport Union if it meant that I could stay here and be with you. Besides, there's __**no**__ way I'm leaving my boyfriend here alone until Christmas with all those little hookers running around Harbor._

Ryan could hear the smile in her voice which slowly brought one to his own face. "So what's the plan?"

_Yay!_ He pulled the phone away sharply from his ear at her yell. _You go talk to Caleb and I'll take care of my mother._

"You're going to talk to your mom? Alone? Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

_Ryan, you inspire nothing but contempt from my mother. If you were there, she'd say 'no' just to see you get mad in the hope that you would do something stupid and she could lock you up. Go work on Caleb._

"Good luck, Taylor."

_You too, Ryan._

***************************

Ryan took a deep breath, composed himself, and knocked on the door to Caleb's study.

"Enter," the strong voice boomed from the inside. Ryan did so, opening the door and walking into the relaxing room. He saw Caleb holding a pool cue in one hand and a glass of Scotch in the other and was reminded of why he spent so much time in there: it was where Caleb kept all of his best alcohol.

Caleb set his drink down and took aim at the ball on the table. "I noticed you helped yourself to some of my Scotch while I was gone."

Ryan shrugged. "It was good," he replied as Cal sank the ball.

"I know." Cal glared at him. "What do you want, Ryan? I figured that you would be happy with today's outcome. You get to stay at Harbor. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I want Taylor to be able to stay here. She shouldn't have to leave."

The older man snorted. "What do you care about the girl? She doesn't care for you. She could do much better than some criminal if she left. You're a murderer, an arsonist, and a thief. What can you give her that a rich, well-adjusted young man couldn't?"

"How about somebody that actually cares about her and likes her for who she really is," he said, knocking the ball Caleb intended to pocket out of the way. "Or how about somebody that doesn't constantly belittle her to the point of where she thinks she is nothing?" He watched as Caleb looked away and took a drink from his glass of Scotch. "Don't pretend that little scene out there didn't bother you. I saw your face."

"While I may… _disagree_ with Veronica's method of child raising, Taylor is still her daughter." Caleb turned back to the table and Ryan could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't think I could convince Veronica to change her mind, regardless. She's a very strong-willed woman."

"Bullshit," Ryan spat out. "You're the most powerful man in Newport. Its king. You almost convinced Sandy to buy a worthless piece of land for millions of dollars." He saw the man smirk a bit at the mention of almost getting the best of his son-in-law. "Do you mean to tell me you couldn't convince a sports agent to keep her daughter around?"

"That Balboa Wetlands deal would have benefitted me greatly. How does this benefit me, Ryan?"

"It doesn't," Ryan admitted, shrugging. "In fact, it probably hurts you. I imagine that it will piss off your new wife to have her opinion overthrown. I won't let you send her away, though."

"What are you going to do, fight me for her?"

"Yeah, I am. Do you play nine ball, Caleb?"

**************************

"Mom," Taylor asked, cautiously as she walked into her mother's bedroom that she shared with Caleb. "Mother?"

"What do you want, Taylor," Veronica groaned from the bed.

Taylor squinted through the darkness and could barely make out her mother's shape on the bed. "I don't want to go to a boarding school, Mother."

"I don't care that you don't want to go," came the muffled reply. "You're leaving tomorrow night and that's the end of it."

"But I don't want to go," Taylor quietly wailed.

Her mother sat up quickly and turned on the lights. "It doesn't matter if you want to go or not. I can't you whoring yourself around Newport for the whole world to see. At least if I have you out at an all-female boarding school, you won't have the temptation to sleep with every person that shows you the slightest bit of attention. Unless you're bisexual. You're not bisexual, are you?"

Taylor thought of saying 'yes' just to get her mother not to send her, but thought better of it once she realized that Veronica would just come up with somewhere worse to send her. "Of course not!"

"Thank God for small favors." Veronica readjusted her sleeping mask and lay back down.

"I wish you wouldn't call me a 'whore' mother. Ryan was the first boy I ever slept with," Taylor said quietly.

Her mother sat back up and laughed. "Of course, Taylor. And cows will fly backwards while pigs discuss the economy."

"It's true," Taylor rebutted, gaining momentum. "And Ryan loves me and I love him!"

"He doesn't love you, Taylor," Veronica said, standing and walking over to her daughter. "Your ass is huge, you have no boobs, and your hair is too naturally straight to ever be pretty."

"You… you… bitch!" Taylor watched as her mother stopped her trek back to her bed mid-step and turned back around to face her.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said that you're a bitch."

"Don't you dare speak to me like that! I'm your mother!"

"No you're not," Taylor yelled, finally letting loose with the feelings she had held inside her, bottled up for so many years. "A real mother would never treat her daughter like she was some piece of trash she saw on the street. A real mother would never tell her daughter that she's too fat to ever be pretty or assume that she's selling her body because that's the only way she'd ever have friends. A real mother would be loving and supportive and nice and she would want her daughter to be happy."

Taylor had begun to cry, but she wouldn't let her tears stop her. "You are none of those things. You are an evil, _**evil**_ woman and a heartless bitch. I hate you so much and I never want to speak to you again." She ran from the room leaving her mother surprised and slack-jawed.

*********************

Ryan lined up the shot and slowly exhaled. He groaned and hung his head as soon as he hit the cue ball. He knew he was off target. Sure enough, the cream-colored ball struck the object ball wrong and slid into the corner pocket.

"You see, Ryan," Caleb asked as he retrieved the ball from the pocket. "You can't compete with me. You're too much of a hothead for pool. You have to keep control of your emotions to succeed on the billiard table." Cal sunk one of the few remaining balls. "You're about to lose, Ryan."

"The game's not over yet, Mr. Nichol."

"If you're so confident you can still win, why not up the bet?"

"Fine. If I win, you let Taylor and I continue to see each other, along with allowing Taylor to stay here and go to Harbor."

The old man chuckled. "Unlikely, but fine. _When_ I win, you tell my grandson that you don't want to be friends with him and that you never want to see him again. Then I dissolve my guardianship and you go back into foster care."

Ryan hesitated for only a moment before holding his hand out. "Deal." He took Caleb's hand in his own and shook it, sealing the bet.

"It's going to be a bad night for you, boy. You're about to lose your girl and your friend in one fell swoop." Caleb leaned back down and took another shot, sinking the ball and leaving only two more on the table. "Tell me, Ryan, why is it that you're so willing to give up everything here for this girl? You could have been comfortable here for another two years. No matter how persuasive you think I am, I could never have persuaded my daughter and her son to allow me to let you leave. Now you're risking it all for some girl that hated the very sight of you at the start of the summer. Son of a bitch," he groaned as the eight ball he shot at bounced out of the pocket.

"I love her," Ryan said, looking the older man in the eye. "I know that you knew what that was like once. When you'd do anything to be with somebody. When you'd fight for them and know nothing could keep you away. You knew that feeling not so long ago." He leaned back over the table and lined up the shot on the eight ball, sinking it in the side.

"Maybe I did once, but that was long ago. In any event, we're about to see if you believe what you've been preaching. Do you have enough fight left in you to make one more shot, or are you going to fold and give up?"

"I guess we're about to find out," Ryan said, lining up what might be the most important shot of his life. "Either way this goes, things are about to change." He slowly pulled back the cue and watched as the cue ball crept its way across the table.

* * *

A/N 2: Ahhh cliffhanger! I know some of you are hating me for leaving it like that. I had it written out that it would be resolved, but I couldn't make it that simple. I have two versions in mind for the epilogue and I want to know what you guys think. Do me one favor first. Listen to the song I took the title for this story from: "On a Saturday" by Jacob Golden. There's a reason I titled this story like it is :D So really think about it and let me know what you guys think. I hope you all have enjoyed reading this fic as much as I have enjoyed writing it! It's been a blast and I love every single review I got. Special thanks to Waltzy for helping me get this thing off the ground and for continually giving me advice and for proofing and, well, so many other things! You rock! Thanks to ORy for continually reviewing and Roz for giving me some great ideas. You all are awesome. Without you guys, I don't have an audience. Please let me know how I did and what I can do better next time by reviewing! Thanks so much you guys! Until next time!

AZ


	8. Epilogue

A/N: Here it is. Short but sweet. Or sour, depending on what you were expecting. It's early, I know, but this is for Roz, whose birthday is tomorrow. Happy early birthday! Enjoy! Also, to all of you who have read and reviewed my chapters: Without you guys, none of this happens, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. On with the show!

* * *

He didn't have to say a word as he ascended the stairs. The look on his face was enough to send Taylor crying to her room. He didn't follow.

_Two Days Later_

Ryan grabbed a couple wife beaters from his dresser drawer and threw them into his bag. He already had enough pairs of pants in there and, combining that with the underwear and socks, he could definitely live out of his bag for awhile. He shouldered the large, green duffel and made his way downstairs. He was just about ready to leave when he made a quick detour into the kitchen. He didn't know when he'd have the chance to grab a bite to eat, so he threw some packaged snacks into the bag as well. He had limited funds available and he didn't want to have to spend any of the money left over from the last allowance until he absolutely had to. The protein and fiber in the granola bars and trail mix would sustain him for awhile.

Readjusting the bag on his shoulder, he walked back to the open door and said good-bye to Caleb Nichol's castle. As he shut the door, he pulled out his cell phone. He would be leaving soon, but he had one person that he absolutely had to talk to before he left. He quickly found the name in his phone book and dialed the number.

"Hey. Do you think you can get away for a bit? I need you to meet me at the pier."

*******************

Ryan sipped his coffee and relaxed on the bench. As much heartache as Newport had caused him lately, he'd actually become kind of fond of the place. He'd miss times like this, sitting out on the pier, doing nothing but watching the ocean. Of course, the real reason (or at least part of it) that he would miss this place was doing his best to be 'stealth' and sneak along the pier to where Ryan was sitting. He couldn't help but grin at the other boy's attempt to use the minimal amount of concealment available to him on the wide open boardwalk.

"Ryan," Seth hissed from behind him.

"Nobody is looking for me yet, Seth. You can talk normally."

Seth stood up and walked around the bench. Ryan had trouble not cracking a smile at his friend's attire. He was decked out in full stealth mode, as Seth would put it, with a black turtleneck and black pants.

"So you're leaving, I take it," he asked, joining Ryan on the bench.

"How'd you know?"

"It was a pretty easy guess. When we heard that Taylor's mom sent her away to boarding school, I kind of figured this was coming."

"I can't be here anymore. It seems like ever since I came to Newport, people keep leaving. My mom left me, Marissa is gone, and now Taylor. I need to go."

"I can't say that I don't understand where you're coming from, man, because I do. I wanted nothing more than to get out of here before you came to Newport. I think I'm going to stay now. Try to get Summer to open up," Seth said, a slight grin on his face. "You know you're always going to be welcome here, right?"

Ryan nodded his head. "Tell your folks I'm sorry for running off like this. Again."

"I think they'll understand. At least my dad will. Mom is…" he trailed off and rocked his hand back and forth in a so-so motion. "I think my dad's going to send her to rehab."

"I'm sorry."

Seth shrugged his shoulders in a what-can-you-do gesture. "So you're heading out? Where ya goin'?"

Ryan smiled. "I thought I'd go on a pancake tour of North America."

"Well, at least I leave you funnier than when I found you." Seth was silent a moment. "I'm gonna miss you, man. You're the first real friend that I ever had," he said, standing.

"I'm gonna miss you, too." Ryan joined the other boy. He held out his hand, which Seth took with his own. The handshake quickly developed into a hug as the two said their good-byes.

"So, I have something for you," Seth said, wiping a tear from his cheek and reaching into his pocket. "It's not much, but I figured you could use it." He handed over a wad of twenty dollar bills.

Ryan looked at it. "Dude, I can't take that."

"Yeah, you can. It's what I have left of my Bar Mitzvah money. I'm actually surprised it lasted this long, but there was probably a couple grand in there. There's only five hundred or so left, but I thought you might need it more than I do."

"What would your folks say if they knew that you gave me that?"

"I'm sure Sandy Cohen would be glad I was finally flipping the law the bird. He's always wanted me to fight the power. Now I can tell him that I aided in the escape of a felon."

"I'm not a felon, Seth."

"Right. Just take the money. At least I'll know that I did what I could to help."

Ryan considered it for a moment and finally took the offered money. It would definitely help him until he could get on his feet. "Thanks, Seth."

"No problem. Send me a postcard or something."

Ryan grinned. "Will do."

The last vision he had of Seth as he rode off on his bike was of his hand in the air, waving good-bye. He'll bring Summer back, Ryan thought to himself. He just knew it.

***********************

Ryan had ditched his bike on the side of the road a ways back and was walking on the highway, his bag on his shoulder and his thumb sticking out. He'd been looking for a ride for the past hour or so and was getting worried because the sun was going to be rising soon. It wouldn't be long before Caleb discovered he was gone. He wasn't sure that he'd report him missing, but why take the chance? Just then, a tractor trailer pulled up beside him and the window rolled down.

"You need a ride, boy," the grizzled man asked him.

Ryan considered him for a moment. He could usually count on his instincts to tell him about people and right now they were telling him that this guy was okay. "Yeah, if that's okay."

"Well, hop on in. I ain't got all day."

He opened the door and got into the spacious cab. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He could sense the truck driver sizing him up and he hoped his instincts hadn't failed him. "I'm not gonna get in trouble for giving you a ride, am I?"

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "I'm only 17. I was getting ready to go into foster care and I decided I'd rather go off on my own than find a new family."

The man nodded. "I left home at 16 to get a job. 'Course it was different then than it is now, but I can respect that." The gruff man held out his hand. "Bill Johnson."

Ryan took it in his own. "Bryan. Bryan Gatwood."

"Uh huh. Whatever you want to call yourself is fine with me. So where you goin'?"

Ryan thought for a minute and remembered a promise he had made. "The east coast, I guess. Somebody there I've got to see."

* * *

A/N 2: So there it is. Story over. I hope that you enjoyed it. I'm going to get back to working on aOCu again. I think this little story unblocked me so we'll see what I can come up with. Thanks for sticking with me through everything!

AZ


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